


The Furies Wept

by nanda (nandamai)



Series: Resolution [3]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Job Loss, Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-09
Updated: 2005-09-09
Packaged: 2017-10-10 05:07:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/95854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nandamai/pseuds/nanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Oh, he is so going to kill a Carter by the time this is over. He doesn't know which one yet, but that's a minor detail." Sequel to Salvage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“We should have been there, Jack.” Carter kicks off her shoes in her front hall. They thud against the door. “You know we should have.”

He slides the deadbolt into place and walks past her. “Sam, c’mon. What exactly do you think we could have done that Coburn didn’t?” Jack himself wonders how careful Coburn was — he’s definitely young for the job Jack should have left to Carter — but now is not a good time to mention that.

SG-1, the new SG-1, had been cut off from the gate on P3-something, and by the time they made it back — in the late afternoon, with Daniel concussed, unconscious, and sporting a broken arm — Carter had worked up seven hours’ worth of panic. Jack thought dinner and a couple beers would calm her down. He’s trying very hard to learn the art of Calming Carter Down. It’s not going well.

“We would’ve seen them coming,” she says.

Jack sighs. He’s not happy about Daniel, either, but they’ve been having this conversation for months. He heads for the kitchen and hears her follow. “It was an ambush, Carter. The whole point is that you don’t see it coming.”

“Teal’c’s more observant than anyone on that team. He’s a better shot, too. So are you. So am I.”

“Maybe.” Jack pulls two glasses from the cupboard and begins filling them from the tap in the refrigerator door. His back is to her, but he can pretty much hear her scowl.

“Maybe? Why are you arguing with me about this?”

He turns, offering her one of the glasses. She ignores it. “Hey, I am not arguing with you,” he says.

Her mouth is drawn tight; she’s getting pink around the ears. “No, you’re just contradicting everything I say.”

Jesus. He always knew she was hard on herself; he just never guessed that getting involved with her meant she’d be just as hard on him. Okay, yeah, their relationship didn’t start under the best conditions, but still. “Fine,” he says, hoping she’ll give up when he gives in. “In a perfect universe we would have been there. And the Jaffa wouldn’t.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” She eyes him with suspicion. It’s not always an advantage that they know each other so well.

Jack puts down one glass, drinks some water from the other. “You know what it means,” he says calmly. “I tell you every day.”

“Indulge me.”

Oh, for God’s sake. “Carter, listen. I’m worried about Daniel, too, and I miss Teal’c just as much as you do. But this is our life now. We’ve made our choices.”

“Some life,” she says. “I gave up my career for this.”

Damn, she knows how to get under his skin.

“Oh, here we go,” he says. His glass hits the counter a little harder than he intended. The Carter he gave up _his_ career for was smart and practically unbreakable and had enough self-confidence to fell a Jaffa at a hundred meters. He understands why her ego needs stitching up now — he does — but God, she lays so much guilt on herself, and, lately, on him. He’s got plenty of his own to go around, thank you.

“Yes, Jack, here we go. This is our life. We can’t go two days without screaming at each other.” Oh, now, screaming is an exaggeration, though it’s true this is their third round in a week.

“And whose fault is that?” he asks.

“You mean it’s mine, of course.” She crosses her arms and stares him down.

Well, hey, if the shoe fits … “You have to admit you’ve been a little volatile lately.”

Her nostrils flare. “Volatile? You got us caught, Jack. I wouldn’t be volatile if you hadn’t gotten us caught.”

“Right. And whose hand was that on my dick?”

“You could have said no, Jack. You’re a big boy. You said that yourself.”

He really needs to stop talking now. Really. But he can’t, not when she’s got that look on her face. “Hand. On. My. Dick, Carter. Not a lot of opportunities to say no.”

She barks out an angry laugh. “Please. You wanted it just as much as I did. You said that yourself, too.”

“Yeah, well, I’m beginning to wonder why.”

Her mouth opens and closes. “Get out,” she says.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He steps closer, but she backs away. “Wait, Sam, I didn’t —” Right, like there’s any way he can take that back. “I don’t —”

“Get out of my house. The last thing I want to do is sleep with you.”

She’s shaking, hands balled into fists. He decides that a strategic retreat is in order.

“Fine. Find somebody else to whine to.” Or maybe not so strategic. God, he’s an asshole.

“Get. Out.”

He does.

*

Jack hears the sound of her engine a few minutes before he hears the doorbell. The blinking red lights by his bed tell him it’s 3:23 in the morning.

“Just use your key,” he says as he lets her in.

“You sure about that?” she asks dryly. She’s wearing her favorite leather jacket over a white tank top and little pink pajama shorts, and she looks way cuter than she should at this hour. Especially after kicking him out of her house.

“Reasonably sure. You want some coffee?”

She thinks about that. “Um, no, actually. Thanks.”

“You know, I don’t want any, either. Come on.” He leads her into his living room and sinks onto the couch, head in hands, elbows on knees. Carter flops down on the chair opposite. Flopping is not something she does very often. “God, I have not slept at all,” he says. “You?”

“No.” She gives a long sigh. He looks up at her, and her face twists up. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

“I said some awful things.”

“Me too. Really awful. I’m sorry.”

She slumps further down in the chair. “Why does this have to be so hard?”

“I didn’t expect it to be easy.”

“No, I didn’t either,” she says. She toes off her shoes and curls both legs beneath her. “I just wish it could be.”

That would be pretty great. “Yeah,” he says.

“It’s not like I get some sick thrill out of fighting with you.”

Jack can’t let that one go. He should, but he can’t. “Well, you do get pretty hot when you —”

“Jack!”

He grins at her, and she hides a smile. But it sweeps away quickly. “I want this to work,” she says.

Oh, Carter. “So do I.”

They sit quietly. It’s hard on her, he knows — Teal’c’s gone back to the Jaffa, she’s not as close to Fraiser as she used to be, and now Daniel’s injured. And Jack might be the one who convinced her they had to talk about stuff, but that doesn’t mean he always knows what to do with the stuff.

She rolls the hem of her jacket between her fingers, staring at nothing. Her brain’s hard at work, he can tell, but he has no clue what it’s working on. Whether he’s worth it all, maybe.

“I just,” she starts. “I kind of lose it when you talk down to me.”

When he what? Jack sits up and stares. “You’re one of the smartest people on the planet. Me talking down to you would break the laws of physics.”

“But you do,” she says softly, shaking her head. “You might not mean to, but you do.”

“I _don’t_ mean to.” She watches him with wide, guileless eyes. “I just feel like you lose your perspective sometimes,” he says.

Her brows furrow together. “Well, you’re right about that.”

“I’m trying to, I don’t know, keep you from freaking out even more.”

“I don’t think it’s working,” she says.

“No.” Clearly his Calming Carter Down method is even less effective than he thought. “No, I haven’t perfected the technique yet.”

That earns him a little smile. He figures he’d better take advantage of it. “None of this is your fault, Carter.”

“Jack —” She shakes her head again, but she doesn’t look mad.

He raises his hands in self-defense. “Not talking down! Talking _up_.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” she says. This smile is slightly bigger than the last one.

“Yeah, well.” He shrugs. “I’m going to keep telling you that, by the way.”

She doesn’t argue, though whether it’s because she’s exhausted or because she concedes his point, Jack has no idea.

“Daniel’s going to be fine, with or without us,” he says. Jack needs to believe this, too; he’s the one who entrusted Daniel to Coburn. “You know that, right? Fraiser’ll kill him if he’s not drooling over ruins again by tomorrow.”

“I know,” she says ruefully. “I do.”

Jack lets his lips curl up a little. “Do you mind if we save the makeup sex for morning? I’m beat.”

She tries not to laugh. It works for about two seconds.

*

The phone wakes Jack up. He knows that ring. He knows, for one thing, that it’s not his.

Beside him, she’s already stirring.

“I can’t believe you brought your cell with you when you came over here in your pajamas,” he says.

“You’d have done the same.” She throws off the covers. Jack looks at the clock; it’s just after seven. “It’s the base,” she says. “I have to get it.”

He knows he should be careful after last night, and he knows he’s asking for trouble, but … “No, you don’t.”

Their first official fight was over this. She went in to work on a Sunday, he was bored and pissy, and he suggested, in his usual tactless way, that since the Air Force no longer owned her soul and she finally had a life, she might want to consider living it.

Yeah, it was stupid.

Carter finds her jacket on the trunk at the end of the bed, and reaches into the pocket. “Don’t start,” she says.

He holds up a hand. “I’m not starting.”

But she stands by the bed, holding the phone, and doesn’t flip it open. “I’ll just listen to the message,” she says.

Yes! Victory!

She sits on the edge, and he scoots over to pillow his head on her lap. Wow, those little pink cotton things are really short. And she has nothing on underneath them. And putting aside the disturbing thought that she drove across town like that, from this angle he can see, well, not the naughty bits, but the white skin just above the naughty bits. And it looks very, very good.

The ringing stops. Jack snaps the waistband of the pink shorts. “Makeup sex, Carter.”

“Message, Jack.” Okay, partial victory, then.

The phone beeps. He watches her put it to her ear, and then he feels her tense up while she listens. Shit, it can’t be bad news about Daniel. It can’t. He was stable last night.

“Sam?”

“It’s General Hammond,” she says. “My dad’s here.”

Aw, crap. They haven’t heard from Jacob for, what, six months? And he picks now to show up, when Carter’s mojo is still MIA and they’re still working out … well, pretty much everything. He couldn’t have waited another, oh, year?

She snaps the phone shut and holds it in her lap, silent.

“I’m a dead man, aren’t I?” He hopes for a laugh. He doesn’t get one.

“I’m not ready for this,” she says.

Jack rubs the arch in her back. “Yes, you are.”

“No. Jack —”

“He’s your father, Sam. He might be mad,” and Jack knows it won’t be pretty, “but he’ll get over it.” Unfortunately, Jack also knows that it took Jacob and his son years to get over _that_.

“I just don’t want to see his face when I tell him.”

“Want me to come with?”

“No. Thank you, but no. He’s not in Colorado yet, anyway. He landed at Area 51 half an hour ago.”

“So we still have time for the makeup sex.”

She swats at his head. “Jack.”

Oh, well. Knowing Jacob’s on the planet kind of kills the mood, anyway.

“I have to go home to change.” She shifts on the bed. “Damn, I miss wearing a uniform sometimes.”

Jack does, too. “Sure you don’t want me tagging along?”

“No,” she says. “I’m not sure. But it’ll be better if you don’t.”

“Just as far as your place. I’ll make breakfast while you get ready.”

She hesitates. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

She tries to stand, but Jack holds on, sitting up to stop her. “Does it help if I tell you I love you?” he says, feeling like an idiot. He’s been trying to say it more often, partly because he thinks she needs to hear it, and partly because it earns him his favorite Carter smile.

He’s probably up to five times total.

She turns to look at him, and it’s not the smile he expected. Instead he thinks she might cry. She probably won’t — she hasn’t cried throughout this entire mess — but it looks like she’s thinking about it. “Yes,” she says. “It helps a lot.”


	2. Chapter 2

Her call finds him studying garbage disposals at Sears. His finally crapped out last fall, but he never cared when he was spending most of his time on base or offworld. It seems more important now, especially since Carter, when preoccupied, rinses food down there anyway.

Plus, he’s bored, which seems to be his baseline state when she’s not around. And then he figures it’s better to be away from home should a certain Tok’ra come looking for his head.

Does he really need the super-heavy-duty model with the soundproofing? Can he live with 3/4 horsepower? Is batch feed asking for trouble with Carter around? Or — oh. Phone.

He checks the caller ID, presses talk, and says, “Tell me you didn’t let him leave the mountain armed.”

Carter laughs a little. That’s a good sign. “I didn’t let him leave the mountain armed.”

“Oh, thank God.”

“But listen. We need to have dinner with him tonight.”

“Oh, we so do not.” He says this to amuse her; he assumed dinner was a given, anyway.

She ignores him. “I was thinking the East Side Grill at six? You can meet us there.”

Jack is suddenly very eager to get back to his comparison shopping. He slips on his glasses, to read the product specs on the most expensive model. Might as well splurge, right? He’ll buy the thing now, install it this afternoon, clean out the goop in his pipes for the last damn time, and _then_ he’ll think about what to say to Jacob. “See you at six, then,” he says. “Early dinner means less time you have to entertain him by yourself, huh?”

“Something like that.”

“Chicken.”

The loudspeaker pages somebody named Joe to customer service. Whoops.

“You’re hiding out at Home Depot, aren’t you?”

“I might be,” he says.

“You need a life. You do know that?” She’s teasing, laughing even, but there’s truth behind it. “I’m not your cruise director, Jack.”

He tries to keep it light, too. “Oh, can we discuss my career prospects after your dad’s gone, please? And how’s he doing, anyway?”

She pauses — Jack can tell she’s deciding whether to pursue it — and lets it drop. “About what you’d expect,” she says. “He’s moved on to the stage where he thinks it’s all your fault.”

“Oh, _fantastic_.” Jack wonders whether he can grab the box off the lower shelf without dropping his phone. No, probably not. Maybe if he shoves it with his foot … “How’s Daniel?”

“Better. Still on the IV. He was awake for about an hour earlier.”

The box tilts precariously on the edge of the shelf. “Well, good.”

The line goes silent for a few seconds. Jack crouches down, wedges the phone between his shoulder and his ear, ignores the protest from his neck, and pulls the box out onto the floor. He should have gotten a cart. Why didn’t he get a cart? “Sam? You still there?”

“I’m here.” More silence. “Dad wants us to go on a mission with him. Tomorrow.”

He straightens up and immediately forgets about his new toy. “Us as in you and me? On a what?”

“I know. It’s unofficial. He doesn’t want —” She stops; this is not a secure line. “— his friends back home to hear about it.”

“Wow. That doesn’t sound ominous at all.” But a trip through the gate — do they really get to go through the gate?

“I can’t say no, Jack.”

Yeah. This he understands. And he’d never pass it up, either.

So, tomorrow. Tomorrow is the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend, and next week is … “Aw, crap,” he says.

“‘Aw, crap’ what?”

“We’re gonna miss the Cup final, Carter.”

Jack hears a snort. He loves that; it means he’s caught her off guard. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Damn right you will.”

“But not tonight,” she says. “Company.”

“Yeah, I figured I wouldn’t be getting lucky.” He pictures her rolling her eyes, and grins. “So, six o’clock? And no weapons, remember.”

“No weapons,” she says. “Got it.”

*

Jack is early. Jack is often early, though he likes to pretend otherwise. Carter is usually early, too, but he knows getting out of the mountain today must be more of a hassle than she’s used to. Probably a lot more.

He hates waiting, but he refuses to let it get to him. He drums his fingers on the tablecloth and watches the door for her blond hair.

It occurred to him halfway through his home improvement project that this restaurant was a mistake. He’d brought her here once (though she insisted on paying; she does that a lot) and later that night they had sex. Really had sex, not the screwing around they’d done after losing their jobs. There’d been talking, finally, after the screwing around, and there’d been a few weeks of dating like somewhat normal people, and then there’d been Carter’s hand slipping quietly under the tablecloth, over in that corner. And this is a bad thing to be remembering at this precise moment. Earlier, when they were on the phone and she suggested the place, that would have been a good time.

Carter and Jacob are eight minutes late. Jack stands when he sees them, tugs at his shirt cuffs. She makes a face as she approaches and Jack can tell exactly how her day went, as if he didn’t already know. Then she gives him a quick kiss, trying, he thinks, to prove a point. And then there’s Jacob, trailing behind his daughter.

“Jack.”

“Jacob.”

Carter lays a hand on Jack’s back and he reaches out to Jacob, who squeezes tightly. Too tightly. Afterwards, Jack flexes his fingers to make sure all the parts still work.

“So,” Jacob says once they’re all seated, “how’re you keeping yourself busy these days, Jack?”

Jack glances at Carter before answering, but finds no help there. “Oh, you know,” he says. Waiting for his girlfriend to get home … “Did some plumbing today. I’m at the mountain every now and then. Thor still likes me best.” He shrugs. It does sound lame when he says it aloud.

“I always wondered about that guy,” Jacob says.

Jack clears his throat.

“I think we should order dinner before we start insulting each other, don’t you?” Carter says, in a sickly-sweet voice that scares the shit out of Jack.

“Yes,” Jack says, “dinner is good. Dinner is very good.”

“Where the hell is our waitress, anyway?” Jacob opens his menu and stares down at it.

“I’m sure she’s coming, Dad.”

Jack angles his head toward Carter. “Maybe we should ask to talk to Selmak,” he says.

“Not funny, Jack.” She opens her menu, too, and joins her father in ignoring Jack. Oh, this is going to be a fun evening.

Jacob speaks without looking up. “You can’t talk to Selmak.”

“Why the hell not?” Jack asks.

“Because we’re in public?” It’s the most sarcastic tone Carter has.

“Because he’s on your side,” Jacob says.

Jack feels his eyes bug out, and sees hers do something similar. “Seriously?” he asks. But it only earns him a silent glare from Jacob. Jack decides reading the menu would be a wise move.

A waiter appears by their table with water glasses and a basket of bread. The kid looks about twelve, though he’s probably a student at the university, and Jack feels sorry for him already. He introduces himself as Sean and asks if he can start them off with drinks.

“No,” Jacob says.

Carter groans and the kid makes his escape. Jack surreptitiously squeezes her thigh.

Jacob sets his menu aside.

“Have you made up your mind, Dad?” She puts on a big smile. “What are you having?”

“I just can’t believe you let this happen, Sam.”

Her shoulders slump. “Dad,” she says, exasperated. Jack surveys the restaurant and decides nobody’s listening.

“And you.” Jacob’s forehead twitches as he focuses on Jack. “What the hell were you thinking, getting involved with a subordinate? I thought you were smarter than that.”

“Hey! I did not get involved with a subordinate! We didn’t start dating until —”

Jacob looms closer to Jack. “No, you just had, what, a one-night stand with her?”

“Oh, God.” Carter sinks back in the chair, staring at the ceiling.

Enough already. They’re both too old to be lectured about their personal lives. “I suppose that’s a fair assessment, Jacob.”

“Jack!”

Jack shrugs, semi-apologetically. Carter drills him with a glare and then turns back to her father, whose jaw is actually open in surprise. “He also resigned his commission to help protect my career at the SGC, Dad.”

“Is that supposed to impress me?”

“I did?”

She kicks him under the table. Damn, she has good aim — which must be Jacob’s fault. “Jack, help me out here, will you?”

Young Sean reappears, and none of the three of them says a word. The kid looks between their faces. “Should I give you a minute to decide?” he asks.

“No, we’re ready,” Jacob says tightly.

Jack’s about to contradict when he feels Carter’s shoe pressing on his shin. Right. Silence. Right.

When the waiter’s gone, walking pretty fast, Jack thinks, Jacob targets a frigid stare at Jack. “I just want to know if it’s worth it,” he says.

“What?” Carter asks. Jack has a feeling neither of them is going to like the answer to this.

Jacob waves a hand at Carter and Jack. “Well, you’re obviously not getting along very well — ”

“Dad!”

“Hey!”

“— so it’s got to be the sex, right?”

Carter recoils as if she’s been shot. “Oh, my God. I cannot believe you just said that.”

“Jacob, I don’t think this is —”

“Come on, Jack.” He sets his elbows on the table. The gesture appears casual, but Jack knows better. “My daughter’s career, your demotion from colonel to, what, houseboy? Is sleeping with my daughter worth all that?”

Jack sort of loses it. “You know, Jake, it really is.”

“Okay, that’s it.” Carter leans in, and Jack swears he can see steam gushing from her ears. Well, at least it isn’t all his fault this time. “Look, Dad, we know we screwed up, okay? But we do love each other and we’re trying to make this work and you are not helping.”

Jack wants to say, _Go, Carter!_ but he doesn’t dare. He waves a tiny mental _Go, Carter!_ flag instead.

“And you,” she says, turning on Jack.

He points to his own chest. “What? Me?”

“Stop baiting him. You know how he gets.”

Jacob, who’s been watching this in stunned silence, squints dangerously at his daughter. “How do I get?”

“You know how you get, too,” Carter says. “Both of you just cut it out. I can’t believe I agreed to —” She looks around, drops her voice. “— travel with the pair of you. In one — whatever — car. Alone. Jesus.”

Jack’s not brave enough to squeeze her thigh again. He exchanges a glance with Jacob.

“Yeah,” Jack says, “about that, Jacob —”

“We leave Cheyenne at oh-six-hundred. Quick trip to Peterson, quick flight to Nevada. Then the usual. It should take us about five days to get there. No gate.”

Get _where_? Jack knows he shouldn’t, but he has to ask anyway. “What, no briefing?”

“I briefed George this afternoon,” Jacob says. He sits back; his chair creaks. “I’ll tell you what you need to know on the way.”

“Jacob. You know how tense that makes me. I don’t like being tense.”

Carter scrunches her eyes shut, sighing.

Jacob smiles a very thin smile. “If I were you, Jack, I’d try not to piss me off for a very long time.”

Huh. The man has a point.

“Right,” Carter says. The glare might be for her father, but it might be for both of them. “I’ll tell him, then.” And to Jack, “You remember that mystery device that SG-11 found a few months ago on P4X-709?”

Jack can’t help asking this, either. “You mean the one that’s been driving you batty?”

It doesn’t get her going, though. Her lips curl the tiniest bit. “The one that’s been driving me batty,” she says. “Selmak thinks he knows what it is.”

“She should have contacted me right away,” Jacob says.

“You were on a mission, Dad.”

“You could have sent a message.”

Carter gives up, turns back to Jack, and says quietly, “It’s part of a device that stabilizes naquadria.”

Holy crap. Even Jack knows how big that would be. “Are you shitting me?”

“She’s not shitting you,” Jacob says with a tight smile. “At least, we think that’s what it does. But we don’t have all of it.”

“Oh, of course we don’t.”

“Selmak thinks the piece I’m missing is the power source,” Carter says. Jack can tell she’s starting to get her new-technology high. Her eyes are bright, her hands animated. “But he knows where it might be.”

“He _thinks_ he knows where it might be,” Jacob says. “Anyway, he knows where we left it.”

“Of course you do,” Jack sighs. It’s all sounding a lot less fun now. “Left it _when_?”

Jacob shrugs. “Few centuries ago,” he says.

“Oh, great. That’s just great, Jacob.”

Carter touches Jack’s arm. “Jack, the planet is in heavy Goa’uld territory.”

“Oh, of _course_ it is.” It would have to be, wouldn’t it? Jack sighs, again. “Which one?”

“Anzu, we think,” Jacob says.

“Okay, first, there’s that ‘we think’ thing again, and second, who the hell is that?”

“The one who forced us out. He was a minor Goa’uld working for Ra at the time. We’ve lost track of him since.”

Carter looks around once more, to make sure nobody can hear them. It’s still early; the two closest tables are empty.

Jack wants to say, _How do you lose track of a Goa’uld?_ and _Are you both insane?_ But he settles for, “So what’s with all the sneaking around, Jacob? You guys are supposed to keep secrets from us, not from each other.”

Jacob gives Jack a grim smile, but lets the the jab slide. “We think there’s a spy on the High Council.”

Jack waits for more, but when Jacob doesn’t continue, Carter shakes her head and does it for him. “The problem is that they don’t know who,” she says. “But they think he’s working for Anubis.”

“Oh, this just keeps getting better and better,” Jack says. This mission is going to kill him in so, so many ways.

“But you see why we’d want to get our hands on a naquadria stabilizer before he hears about it,” Jacob says.

“Unfortunately, I do see.” He also sees that the terms of the Tok’ra-Earth Treaty would require full disclosure about any technology that might be useful in the fight against the Goa’uld, and that sending an official SG team would make that disclosure inevitable, and that none of this can get back to the High Council while anybody’s loyalty is in doubt, and, well, crap. “So, top secret it is, then,” Jack says. “Nobody but us, huh?”

“We’ll have to tell Daniel something,” Carter says. “He’ll worry.”

“Fraiser’ll worry, too,” Jack adds. Carter and Fraiser haven’t had much to say to each other lately, and Jack sort of feels responsible for that. But then, it’s been awkward between Jack and Daniel, too, and Jack definitely feels responsible for that.

Carter glances Jack’s way. “Yeah,” she says. “And Janet.”

“Well, make something up,” Jacob says shortly.

Like they need to be told. “Yes, thank you, Jacob, we’d never have thought of that ourselves.”

There’s that steam from Carter’s ears again. “Jack, stop.”

“What? He — ”

She gives him a look she used to use on enemy Jaffa right before she blew them up. Jack stops. And then he retreats to the men’s room, ostensibly to wash his hands before the food arrives.

Afterwards, he rests against the wall in the short hallway. He feels bad about leaving Carter to fend for herself, but she’s better prepared to deal with her father than he is. She’s had thirty-something more years of practice.

That, and he’s a coward. Five days to get to this planet? Alone on a cargo ship? With two Carters? Oy.

Sean the waiter walks past, heading for a door marked _Employees Only_. He stops, wincing sympathetically at Jack. “Your girlfriend’s father?” he asks.

“Unfortunately.”

“First time you’ve met him, right?”

“No.” Jack sighs. “That’d be less awkward than this.”

The kid says, “Whoa.” And then he says, “Hey, good luck, man,” which Jack translates as _better you than me_.

Dinner, by Jack’s estimation, lasts at least five days. Jacob’s not happy with his salad, the butter on his bread, or his entrée. Carter doesn’t say much, either. Well, they’ll all have plenty of time to talk, starting tomorrow. Terrific.

Finally — not soon enough — Jack pulls out his AMEX and leaves it on the table. Fuck dessert. Nobody needs dessert.

Jacob drinks the last of his water, shakes the melting ice cubes in his glass. “Sam, can I borrow your car?”

Carter sits up to attention. “Of course you can, but where — ”

“I might as well spend the night on base. I’ll have to be back there in —” He checks his watch. “— nine and a half hours anyway. Plus, it’ll give me some time to look at your piece of the stabilizer. Okay if I work in your lab?”

Her forehead crinkles up. “Dad, it’s okay. Jack’s going home. You can stay with me.”

“Go home with your kid, Jacob,” Jack says, not liking the game the older man is playing.

“Nah. I’ll be fine on base, Sam. Don’t worry about it. Jack can drive you home, can’t you, Jack?”

Carter opens and shuts her mouth, fishes out her keys, and hands them over. She stares after her father until the front door swings shut behind him. “God, I hate when he does that,” she mumbles. Jack’s pretty sure he hates it, too. He sits silently, squeezing her thigh again. It’s a big part of his revised Calming Carter Down strategy.

Sean slips in and takes the credit card away, not bothering to ask if they want coffee.

“So,” Jack says, “your place it is, then.”

She looks a little predatory, though. “Jack, why did you say that?”

He’s genuinely confused, and withdraws his hand. “That we’re going to your house?”

“That sleeping with me is _worth it_?”

Oh, for God’s sake. Because he was sick of Jacob’s superiority complex, that’s why. “I sense that the answer you’re looking for here is, ‘Because I’m an idiot.’”

“Don’t turn it into a joke, Jack.”

“Now hey, if you’re going to start complaining about my inappropriate use of humor, then that’s a hell of a lot of complaining. I just thought I should point that out.”

She makes an exasperated sound, a little too close to a growl. “Just don’t do it again, okay? If he ever brings it up, you say _nothing_.”

“Okay, okay.”

“I cannot believe the two of you.”

That makes Jack feel bad. Not a lot bad. Just a little bad. He gives up on the thigh-squeezing, and squeezes her hand instead. “Worse than you expected?”

She thinks, very seriously. “No, actually.”

Well, that’s something. She sighs and rolls her head on her shoulders. “I’m exhausted,” she says. Jack doesn’t blame her. “Can you take me home?”

Wait, there’s something missing from that question. “Take you home and …?”

“Take me home and what?”

“Well, I kind of thought I might go inside.”

Carter pinches the bridge of her nose. “Jack, I’m not going to want to …” She reclaims her hand and waves it in the air.

“Because you’re mad at me?”

“No, because we have to be up before dawn.”

“So what’s the problem?” He tries to make it sound funny, or at last not angry, but really, how can she still think that’s all he wants? They’re grownups; it’s not like they go at it every night. He wasn’t even happy with just sex during the brief time when it _was_ just sex.

She doesn’t appear to notice the funny or the angry. She just gives him that look again, the one where he thinks she might cry. “All right,” she says.

“I’ll just run in and get a few things at my place, okay?” He speaks quickly, in case she changes her mind. “It’ll take two minutes.”

She nods, and knots her fingers with his. Jack’s still trying to figure out what he did right for once, but there’s no way in hell he’s going to ask.

*

The base is virtually unmanned at 5:00 A.M. on a holiday weekend. Jack’s been here less than a dozen times since he left. It’s weird.

But Daniel’s awake, and Teal’c is visiting. Teal’c stops in the middle of a sentence. Carter doesn’t notice.

“Teal’c!” She gives him a big hug. “It’s so good to see you. When did you get here?”

Jack’s not sure what to do with himself. He offers Daniel a small, uncomfortable smile, wishing he didn’t feel like such a jerk. So they’re not working together anymore — so what.

“Approximately five hours ago,” Teal’c says. “It is good to see you as well, Samantha Carter.” He lets Carter go, and grasps Jack’s hand and forearm. “And you, O’Neill.”

“How ya’ doin’, Teal’c?”

“I am well, thank you.”

“So am I,” Daniel says.

Carter beams; the worry begins to float away. “You’re up early,” she says.

“Thirty-six hours of sleep will do that to you.” He looks wide awake now, though, if a little surprised to see them. He’s still got the IV, plus a bandage on his forehead and a sling on his arm, but he doesn’t look too miserable. Cool. What’s not cool is that Jack does the math, and realizes he hasn’t spoken with Daniel since Teal’c left, more than three weeks ago.

“Didn’t you learn anything from us, Daniel?” Carter asks. “You’re supposed to get out of the way _before_ they fire.”

“Whoops?”

Even Teal’c grins at that. He’s wearing his thick Jaffa robes and looks very, well, Jaffa. But then he tilts his head, observing both Jack and Carter. “I would not have expected to see you here until later in the day.”

Guilt creeps up Carter’s face. “We’re taking off with my dad for a few days. Don’t worry about us, okay?”

Daniel looks back and forth between them. “Taking off where?”

“I’ll tell you all about it when we get back,” Carter says. “I promise.”

But Daniel’s not buying it, and neither is Teal’c. “Will you be in danger?” Teal’c asks.

“Only me,” Jack says. “And only if Carter lets Jacob have a zat.”

Daniel takes a breath as if to speak, stops, and tries again. “Didn’t go too well last night, then?”

Jack glances at Carter, surprised that Daniel knows so much about their social life when he’s been unconscious for the better part of two days.

“Daniel Jackson requested gossip,” Teal’c explains. “I procured it.”

Smug Jaffa bastard. He’s totally laughing at Jack, only not out loud. Jack can tell.

“Dinner was fine,” Carter says, daring Jack to contradict her with a sidelong glance. “There was practically no violence.”

“Well, that’s always good,” Daniel says cautiously.

“You _kicked_ me, Carter.”

“I didn’t say none.” Her eyes sparkle. “I said practically none.”

It’s fun to play with his team again for a few minutes, but Jack groans anyway. “Hey,” he says. “Can you guys tell Fraiser not to go into panic mode, either? But nobody’s supposed to know otherwise.”

“We shall inform her, O’Neill.”

The bar at the foot of the bed is cool; Jack wraps his fingers around it. “I’m, uh, I’m glad you’re okay, Daniel.” Carter slants a look Jack’s way.

“Thanks,” Daniel says slowly. “It’s good to see you, Jack.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, and it is good, even if it’s weird. “You too. ‘Fraid we’ve got a flight to catch, though.”

Daniel looks to Carter again. “This flight wouldn’t be leaving the solar system, would it?”

“When we get back, Daniel,” Carter says. “And seriously, don’t worry about us.”

“The more you say that, the more they’re gonna worry, Carter. Let’s go.”

Her lips curl down; Jack thinks she’s afraid that Daniel will get worse while they’re gone. She follows him anyway.

“But there’s nothing to worry about, right?” Daniel calls after them. Carter turns to see their friends again, waves just once, and walks backwards out of the infirmary. Jack takes her hand to make sure she doesn’t smash into a wall.

Their next stop is … not the locker room. Jack instinctively presses 25 in the elevator, but Carter reminds him that they don’t have lockers anymore.

“I scrounged us up some BDUs yesterday,” she says. “They’re in my lab.”

Jack grunts something noncommittal.

“Sam?” he asks while they change. Her lab is quiet, the usual humming and blinking shut down. “I wasn’t lying when I said the only thing to worry about was your dad killing me, right?”

She stands up from tying on her boots. “You were lying,” she says. “But it was for a good cause.”


	3. Chapter 3

It’s strange to be in uniform again, and Jack hasn’t traveled in anything faster than a car for four months. The jolt into hyperspace puts him off balance. It’s pretty cool to see the stars spin like that again, though.

Within the tel’tak, it’s not so cool. Jacob says no more than seven words about the mission and retreats to the pilot’s chair, staring at the whirling stars. Carter, on the other side of the cockpit, turns to look forlornly at Jack. So he makes a command decision. “Carter, with me. We can at least prep the gear.”

She gives him a look that’s a lot like the one he got when he bought her 2% milk instead of skim. But she follows him toward the ring room, where they have a hell of a lot of crap for three people.

Jack stops in the doorway. “Hey, Jake, wanna tell us what kind of planet this is? You know, so we know what to pack?”

“Wet,” Jacob says, without turning around. “Don’t forget the crystals, Sam.”

Carter doesn’t answer. Jack says, “We won’t forget, Jacob,” and mostly keeps the annoyance out of his voice.

The door slides shut behind them, and Carter falls back onto the wall beside it, sighing.

“You okay?”

“We’ve only been on this thing for half an hour, Jack.”

“It’ll get better,” he says. “It has to get better.”

“Stupid planet needs a stupid stargate,” she mutters.

Jack takes a chance and pulls her into a hug. She hugs back, tightly. He really shouldn’t be surprised, he realizes; she spent the entire night glued to him, in her bed.

She buries her face in his chest and, he thinks, breathes him in. “We can do this,” she says.

“We can.”

“Preferably as a united front.”

“United would be good.”

They stay like that for a couple minutes, Carter’s hands locked behind his back, Jack smoothing down her hair.

“Jack?” she says into his shoulder.

“Mmm?”

“If you pick a fight with my dad while we’re stuck in here, I _will_ kill you.”

“When did I ever —” He stops. And then he says instead, “Right.”

*

The waiting was always the worst part of space travel — hours and hours of nothing. Jacob stays sullen in the cockpit, though the ship is flying itself. Jack is still content with his Gameboy. But for Carter, fun and games is a spaceship engine.

They’re only ten hours out, and she’s already opened the crystal casing and started futzing. Jack half-watches her while he beats his own high score in Battletoads. He trusts her not to blow them all up, but it can’t hurt to mention it.

“Carter? Is that a good idea?”

“You worry about saving Mario, I’ll worry about the engines.”

“Hey! This is way cooler than Mario.”

She peers at him over the casing and goes back to work. There’s a clink of glass, and then the lights dim. Carter winces, slides a crystal back into place, and watches the lights come back up.

A hint of phosphorus wafts over to Jack. “Carter?” It’s his old warning voice. He used to use it mostly on Daniel.

“It’s fine.”

“You’d better give it a rest anyh —”

“Sam!”

“Oh, great,” Jack says. Carter winces again.

Jacob storms through the door. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m trying to optimize —”

“It’s optimized! Now leave it alone. The last thing we need is to be dead in the water.”

Jack suspects this scene played itself out regularly in the Carter household, and the way she juts out her chin, her eyes round and defiant, tells him he’s right. He sets his toy aside and prepares to run interference.

“I’m not that stupid, Dad.”

Oh, there’s no way that can lead to something good. “Ooo-kay,” Jack says, clapping his hands together as he stands. “Chow time. Carter, grab some MREs. Any requests, Jacob? No? Good.”

“Jack,” Jacob says, voice low.

Carter doesn’t move; she’s still by the crystals, staring at Jack.

“And while we eat, you’re going to brief us, aren’t you, Jacob? Carter? Dinner?”

She squints at him, then turns and sifts through one of their transport containers. Her prize is three orders of beef stroganoff. Jack finds one tossed at his chest and barely catches it.

“What?” he asks.

She just shakes her head, and Jacob looks at each of them. “Nothing,” she says, glancing at her father. “Just eat.”

It’s a less hostile meal than last night’s, but that’s only because nobody talks. Jack wants to get some food in their stomachs before he starts interrogating Jacob, so he chews and swallows while studying them both. Carter’s seated against the wall, one knee pulled up to her chest, taking tiny mouthfuls. Jack settles down next to her. Jacob stays standing and attempts to swallow the whole thing at once.

Jack has so not missed eating from a bag.

“Okay, Jacob,” he says before anybody can bolt, “come on now. Tell us why you guys left that thing on a Goa’uld-infested planet.”

Carter looks up. He knows she’s heard some of this — she’s even told him some — but he needs to get it from the source. That, and a mission brief is safer for everybody than another lesson in Carter family dynamics.

He wonders if she’d pass this on in her genes, and then decides he’s better off not knowing.

Jacob shrugs. “We do that sometimes.” He crumples up his MRE pouch and tosses it in the box they’ve designated for trash. “When we don’t have time to get all the supplies out, sometimes we collapse the tunnel around them and come back later. The chances of anybody finding them in the meantime are pretty slim.”

“And you didn’t have time because …?”

Jacob looks at Jack as if he were a mental patient. “Anzu showed up. Ra had absorbed his former homeworld, so he went looking for a new one. We don’t think he even knew it was a Tok’ra base. But we had to bug out fast.”

“And,” Carter adds, assembling the pieces, “no one knew what it did, anyway. So you assumed that if Anzu found it, he couldn’t make it work, either?”

Jack nods. It makes sense, though it’s damned inconvenient now.

“It was a pretty safe assumption,” Jacob says. “He was never the brightest bulb in the box.” He shrugs again. “There are some other supplies in with it. Zatnik’tels. A few staff weapons.”

“Well, that’s something,” Jack says. Assuming they’re not all dust by now. “They in some sort of protective box?”

“Plastic, or a polymer like plastic, nothing you’d recognize. It’s shielded.”

Carter cocks her head and shoves her unfinished meal aside. “You never told me where the Tok’ra found it in the first place.”

“On a planet that had once been held by Thanos.”

Ah, well. That explains a lot. “But Thanos never figured out how to stabilize naquadria, right?” Jack says. “And he nearly destroyed Kelowna — Langara, whatever — trying.”

“That is going to be the hard part,” Jacob says wryly. “But Sam and Selmak together are smarter than he was.”

She perks up, leaning forward over her crossed legs; her elbows land on her knees. Jack glances at her. “But if it never worked,” he says, “then why can’t you just fiddle with the part you’ve got in your lab?”

“Because she’s been trying that for months,” Jacob says.

Oh, way to lose the points you just scored there, Jacob.

Her jaw tightens, but Jack has to look pretty closely to see it. “And because this could be the power source,” she says.

“And you wouldn’t want to try powering it with a naquadah generator,” Jack says. “Might blow up the planet?”

“That would be bad,” she says.

He holds her gaze, pretending, for the moment, that her father isn’t in the room. “So … when you do get both pieces together, where the hell do you plan on tinkering with it? I’m guessing Hammond won’t be too happy if you incinerate Earth.”

“We haven’t figured that part out yet,” she says.

“Yeah.” Jack rests his head on the wall. Even if they survive this mission without killing each other, _going offworld to play with a potential doomsday machine_ will become part of her job description. Great.

“So,” he says, “basically, we land, avoid some Jaffa, find this site Selmak remembers from 300 years ago, and start burrowing Tok’ra tunnels?”

There’s a pause, and Jacob scrubs a hand over his non-existent hair. Oh boy.

Jack raises an eyebrow. “Jacob?”

“Actually,” Jacob says, “Selmak never visited that base.”

Carter sits up. “Selmak’s never been there? You might’ve told us that, Dad.”

See, now this — this is exactly why Jack needs to be clued in before takeoff. _Exactly._ “For Christ’s sake, Jacob!”

“I’m telling you now,” Jacob says. “And it doesn’t matter, anyway. We have the coordinates.”

“Oh, well, if we have the _coordinates_ …”

“Jack,” she says. He doesn’t like the reproach in her voice.

“What?” he says. “You agree with me.”

She ignores him. “Anything else you left out, Dad?”

“Only the part about the flesh-eating monkeys,” Jacob says. “Are we done?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. The door slides shut behind him.

The flesh-eating — what?

Jack opens his mouth.

“Not one word,” Carter says, standing. She marches back over to the crystals.

Jack reaches for the Gameboy, but he’s not so interested in it anymore.

*

He jolts awake when the door from the cockpit opens. Carter doesn’t move; she sleeps like a log when she’s with him, though in their SG-1 days she shared his field officer’s ability to pick up every sound, analyze it, and drop back to sleep when it proved to be nothing.

They’re lying on one of the giant Goa’uld cargo containers, and his chest is serving double duty as her pillow, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. It’s the second night.

Jacob heads for one of their storage units and starts sifting through it. Jack cranes his neck to see better.

“Whatcha looking for, Jacob?” he asks cautiously, and not only because he’s afraid he’ll wake Carter. She doesn’t react, her breathing still low and even.

“Backup unit for the handheld,” Jacob says. He shoots them a look over his shoulder, gestures minutely with his chin. “Little inappropriate, don’t you think?”

“She’s a close sleeper sometimes, Jacob.” Jack occasionally wishes she weren’t; he likes to sprawl, after eight years of sleeping alone. But he figures she’ll calm down when she stops freaking out. “Nothing I can do about it.” No particular reason why they should hide it, either.

Jack’s neck hurts. He drops back on the blanket folded up under his head, but only for a second. He looks at Jacob again. “You know, these last few months haven’t been easy on her. You might want to cut her some slack.”

The sifting stops. “Maybe she should have thought of that before … ” And he makes some hand motion that must be the universal Tok’ra sign for carnal relations.

Jack shakes his head. Unbelievable. “It’s scary how much like you she is, do you know that?”

Jacob rifles through the plastic box again. “Do you have any idea what kind of career you ruined?” he asks.

“I wrote her last evaluation, remember? I know exactly what kind of career I ruined.” But he also remembers that Jacob was furious when she didn’t want to apply to NASA, only a few years ago. In Jack’s opinion, Jacob was out of line then, too. “And if you would just get off her ass for two seconds, this mission would be a hell of a lot easier on all of us.”

Jack works his jaw, trying not to let the tension take over his body, trying not to raise his voice. Too late: he feels her breath shift and knows they’ve woken her, though she doesn’t move. He rubs her shoulder, but he’s too deep into this with Jacob to stop now.

“I’m disappointed in her, Jack. I’m disappointed in both of you.”

“I know that. She knows that. What I don’t think you know is how much your opinion matters to her. Do you have any idea how hard it was for her to tell you?”

Jacob half turns, and narrows his eyes. Jack had surprised him with that. Well, good. And maybe Jack can gloat a little, silently, that he knows her better than her father does, in some ways.

“Just give her a break, will you?” Jack asks. “Go after me all you want.”

Jacob’s head tilts almost imperceptibly. Jack can’t tell if it’s a challenge or a surrender or if he just needs to stretch his neck. Jack definitely needs to stretch his. He lies back and listens as Jacob starts digging again.

“Find your thing yet, Jacob?” He doesn’t bother hiding his exasperation. He’s getting tired of telling Carters that the past is not something they can change.

Of course, knowing Carter, she could have the specs for a time machine all worked out in her head, and just be waiting for a spare weekend to build it.

Jacob ignores him for a few seconds, then starts walking back to the door, into Jack’s line of vision. “Yes,” he says. He holds a small metal thing in his hand — the backup whatever for the whatever. “You can get back to what you were doing.”

“You mean sleeping?”

He gets an ironic smile for that — one he knows too well — and watches Jacob leave, the door sliding closed behind him.

Carter rolls onto her stomach, which takes some jostling to keep them both on the crate, and perches on her elbows. She still looks sleepy, but there’s fire there, too.

Jack has his arm back now, and he uses it to straighten out her hair. “Chicken,” he says.

“What did I tell you about picking fights with him?”

What? She’s pissed at _Jack_? Oh, he is so going to kill a Carter by the time this is over. He doesn’t know which one yet, but that’s a minor detail. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I was defending you.”

“Jack.”

He throws up his hands. There is no way all three of them are going to make it off this ship alive. “Is it me you’re mad at, or him?”

She squints thoughtfully, the way her father did a couple minutes ago, and then her eyes dart away. Jack is happy to take that as an apology. Okay, not happy, exactly, but he’s less interested in tossing her out the airlock.

“What was he looking for?” Her voice is back to a register he approves of. Well, hey, if they can shorten all their little disagreements down to just a few words, that’ll be progress.

“Batteries,” he says. “Us. I don’t know.”

“You were defending me?”

Jack thinks she might have a go at him for being a sexist pig, but no, she doesn’t seem to think standing up for her is an entirely bad thing.

“Well, it ticks me off,” he says. “You’re —” He stops himself from mentioning her age. She turned 40 a few weeks ago, just before Teal’c left, and she’s still twitchy about it. “A grownup,” he says instead. “You’re a grownup, and he’s treating you like a teenager who got caught necking with the class stoner.”

Her lips quirk. “That’d be you?”

“It’s not a perfect analogy.”

“Well, you are unemployed.” She pokes his ribs with her elbow.

“Oh, ha ha.”

“And nobody necks anymore, Jack.”

“I’m old, Carter. You tend to forget this.”

She chuckles and turns back onto her side, which requires more jostling. “I didn’t hear all of it,” she says, settling her head on his chest again.

“I know.”

“You ruined my career, you said.”

“I did say that.”

“You know that’s no better than me beating myself up, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but I’m not making a second career out of it.”

She levers herself up on one elbow, to stare down at him. “Making a second — no. Never mind. I see right through you, you know.” Jack _oofs_ as she squishes his diaphragm, crawling over him. “Go play solitaire on my computer or something. I’d better go talk to Dad.”

“Shout if you need help jettisoning him into space,” Jack says.

*

“I spy something beginning with a C.”

“Jack.”

“Come on, you’ve been staring at your laptop for hours.” Or days, more like. Jack’s asked to look a couple times, but it’s always the same — schematics, notes, pictures, all of that gizmo she’s got back in her lab. Yesterday he made the mistake of asking if the computer was Goa’uld-proof. He won’t be doing that again.

“Gameboy dead?” She’s facing away from him, her back against the crate he’s lying on.

Jack tosses his water bottle into the air and catches it. He can’t remember how he used to put up with missions like this on a regular basis, though he does remember having three teammates to entertain him. “I can’t see straight anymore,” he says.

She glances at him over her shoulder. “You should bring books,” she says. “You like books.”

Well, that’s true. “Oh, right, because I plan to make a habit of interstellar travel again.”

Carter just rolls her eyes, looking down at the screen again.

Jack tosses his water bottle some more. “Come on, Carter. I spy —”

“I don’t want to play I Spy, Jack. Why don’t you go bug my father for a while?”

“I could order you to,” he teases.

She stiffens. “You wouldn’t dare,” she says. The keyboard is on her lap, her legs crossed under it. She pounds out a few words.

“But Car —”

“Fine.” The typing stops, and finally, _finally_, she turns around. “You want to talk. Why don’t I tell you about my chemical analysis of the naquadria stabilizer?”

“Um.”

“The housing is made of trinium, a very particular type of trinium, by the way.” Jack groans. “I ran a dozen different tests. I think it must have been mined on P4 —”

“Carter! Are you trying to kill me?”

“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t understand.”

Jack frowns. He might have given away his best defense when he confessed, a couple months ago, that he got most of the science stuff. She laughed, said, “No shit,” and stole one of his fries; it was cute at the time.

“You can play with that when we get back,” he says. “You’ll have planets to destroy and everything.”

She looks up, briefly. “I’m moved by your confidence.”

“Come on, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Hmm,” she says.

Jack starts peeling the label off the bottle. That’s some serious glue, there. After a while, he sits up and takes a long drink.

“Hey, Sam?”

“_What?_”

There’s a lot to read on a water bottle label. Source, mineral content, _Bottled for the United States Air Force by PepsiCo, Inc._ “Maybe you shouldn’t work on that naquadria thing,” he says. “When we get home, I mean.”

“What, we’re going to find the power source and leave it all sitting in storage?”

Now who’s playing dumb? “You do still have underlings, right?”

Carter angles her head to see him better, her lips in that tight line that pisses Jack off. “Haven’t I already given up enough for you? You want _more_?”

“Hey, I gave up something too, you know,” Jack says. “I guess if you go boom, I can just get all that back.”

She gapes at him, but then he can see her muscles begin to relax, and she lets out a disbelieving laugh. “You know, Jack, instead of taunting me, you could just say, oh, ‘I’m afraid to lose you,’ maybe? I’ve heard women like hearing that.”

Jack tries not to squirm. “Not my style, Carter.”

“No kidding,” she says. “You like blowing things up too much.”

“Not planets. Especially not ones that you’re on.”

“That’s almost sweet, Jack. I’m impressed.”

He finishes his water, and pitches the bottle into the trash box. “Look, I know the work is important. But will you just think about it, please?”

She sighs, her face softening a little. “I’ll think about it.”

“How about Hangman? I’ll even let you use the big words.”

“Three letters,” she says. “Starts with A.”

“That’s not how you —” He can tell by her face, though. “I’ll take an S and an S,” he says. “Clever.”

Carter gives him a sarcastic smile and goes back to the gizmo, but that only lasts a few seconds. She stretches her neck and frowns. “I’ve lost my concentration now, anyway,” she says.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

Well, no, he’s not. He watches her rub her temples, rotate her shoulders. She arches her back, bracing her arms on the deck. “I wasn’t just trying to get rid of you,” she says. “I really think you should talk to my dad, Jack.”

Oh, great segue, there. He moans, more vehemently than he needs to. “I will, I will,” he says. It’s only been three and a half days: he still has time.

*

When Jacob announces that they’ll be dropping out of hyperspace in four hours, Jack decides his time is up. Carter’s hunched over one of her mini-computers, doing God knows what to it. She doesn’t even notice when he goes to face his doom.

Jacob’s back in the pilot’s chair, where he’s spent most of the trip, playing with his own Palm Pilot–type thing. Jack slides into the other seat.

“Whatcha doin’?” he asks.

Jacob doesn’t look up. God, so alike, the two of them. “Recording everything Selmak knows about the naquadria stabilizer. For Sam.”

“Smart,” Jack says, not even trying to kiss up.

“She asleep?” Jacob asks. He lifts his head, glances over his shoulder.

“No, she’s doing pretty much what you’re doing. Lost to the world.”

Jacob nods. Jack stares at the blur of stars. For a while nobody says anything.

“Jack,” and Jacob is staring at stars now, too, “you were married once, right?”

“Fourteen years,” Jack says.

“So what happened?”

Jack turns, surprised. He’s always assumed Jacob heard this story years ago. “My kid died,” he says.

“Jesus, I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t know.” Jacob looks truly shaken. He’s certainly come close to losing Carter, many times.

“How is that possible?”

Jacob shakes his head. “I don’t know. Sam never mentioned it, and George wouldn’t let me read your service record.”

“Yeah. Haven’t paid off the bribe for that yet.”

Jacob puts down the handheld computer. “I can’t imagine, Jack. I’m sorry. Selmak, too.”

“It’s okay,” Jack says. Jacob studies him curiously. “I mean, it’s not okay. You never stop thinking about it. But it gets easier to remember the good stuff.”

“Do you ever see her?” Jacob asks, swiveling the chair so he faces Jack. “Your wife?”

“Sure. A few times a year.” He’s been helping Sara with the house, now and then, since her father died. He feels like she shouldn’t have to do it all herself, when she and Jack originally bought it together. “Why’d you ask me about her, Jacob?”

“I don’t really know. It seemed important at the time.”

Jack tracks the pattern of blinky lights on the instrument console, while he discards a dozen different ways to say this. “Jacob, this thing with Sam … I’m not just fooling around here.”

“Your intentions are honorable?” That might be the beginning of a smile. Jack can’t tell.

“My intentions are not to fuck this one up. Look, I don’t know what would have happened if we’d stayed on SG-1. But I’ve gotten pretty good at accepting the way things are.” Well, better than he used to be. Better than Carter, too. He taps out a quick rhythm on the armrest. “She’s not so good at it,” he says.

“Wonder where she got that?”

“No idea.”

Jacob meets Jack’s eyes, and nods again. “What I saw the other night. Is that how it is?”

“Sometimes. We argue a lot, I won’t lie to you about that. But it’s good, too. Most of the time.”

Jacob picks up his work again, and Jack thinks the conversation is over. But a few minutes later, Jacob asks, “Have you ever met my son?”

“No. Talked to him on the phone a few times. When he’s called Sam.”

There’s a pause, and then Jacob nods. “My grandson was a mistake,” he says. “They’d only been on a handful of dates.”

Yes. Jack knows this. He thinks he sees where Jacob is headed. “Were you as mad then as you are now?”

“Close,” Jacob says, ruefully. “I guess the only real difference is that we didn’t talk much back then.”

“And maybe that Sam’s your girl?”

Jacob offers a crooked, self-deprecating smile. “Maybe.”

Jack thinks of the Christmas-card photos Carter’s got saved up, in labeled, acid-free boxes. “Mark and Kristin seem to be doing okay now,” he says.

“Yeah, they are. And I got two grandkids out of it. And a daughter-in-law.” He pauses, looks sideways at Jack. “I like my daughter-in-law.”

“I like your daughter-in-law, too,” Jack says. Kristin usually pelts him with questions until he panics and hands her off to Carter, who thinks this is hilarious. But Jack likes her. She’s happy for them, and that’s okay.

“Jack,” Jacob says, “I was in the Air Force a long time. I’m not sure I’m ever going to get used to this.”

“Yeah, well, anything short of full-blown rage works for me at this point.”

“I think I can manage that,” Jacob says.

They stare at the bluish-white blur outside for a long time.


	4. Chapter 4

The planet glows blue and green, like home but not, and Jack wishes for a parachute. He’s geared up already, bouncing on the balls of his feet, his fingers wrapped comfortably around the barrel of a P-90.

“Definitely a lot of Jaffa,” Carter says, scanning readouts, “and I think that’s a large structure, there. Dad? My Goa’uld’s not great.”

Jacob squints to read. “Several large structures. That’ll be Anzu’s fortress. It’s not far from where the entrance to the Tok’ra tunnels used to be.”

“Coincidence?” Jack asks.

“Could be. Hard to say.”

That was helpful. “Anybody near our site?”

“No. Lots of trees, though,” Carter says.

“We won’t be able to set down right there,” Jacob says, his attention still on the readouts. “We’ll have to hike in. The forest has grown over and it’s pretty thick.”

Clearings don’t show up as often in real life as they do in movies. The closest one that’s big enough for the ship is about twenty-five klicks southeast of their goal. And as promised, it’s raining.

Carter checks her watch, looks out the viewscreen, and calculates something on her laptop. “The sun’s going to set in a few hours,” she says. “Maybe we should stay cloaked in orbit overnight.”

“No,” Jack says. “We go down now. We can get a long way in a few hours.” Besides, they’ve already packed the camping gear.

Furrows dig into Carter’s forehead, and Jack thinks he knows why: they’ll be in enemy territory, they’ll be wet and unable to light a fire, they’ll be on watch in the pitch black. But it really is the smartest option.

“I agree with Jack, Sam. We’ll get as close as we can tonight, and start again at dawn.”

Carter doesn’t look convinced.

“How long will night last around here?” Jack asks her.

She punches some more keys. Then she frowns. “Sixteen hours, give or take.”

Jacob looks up. “Is it winter, or are their days that much longer?”

“Their days are longer, but we’ll be near the equator. It’s really interesting, actually.” Uh-oh. On the one hand, Jack likes watching her light up even more now than he used to. But on the other hand … “They’re farther away from their sun, so the equator isn’t very hot. But the planet isn’t tilted on its axis the way Earth is, so most of the northern and southern hemispheres are —”

“Carter?” She stops, pursing her lips the way she does when he’s pissing her off but she doesn’t want to say so. He’s seen her do that to her father, too. “Sorry, but … three hours?”

“More like three and a half,” she says sharply.

“Right. Pack it up. We can’t waste the light.”

Her head quirks to the side. “Yes, sir,” she says.

Jack sighs — the sooner they get off this ship, the better — and bounces some more.

*

It isn’t quite raining; it’s more spewing mist. Even so, Jack is sure that everything he owns is drenched. The fact that 99.9% of what he owns is thousands of light years away is irrelevant.

They covered nineteen klicks before dusk, then pitched a paltry camp and passed out the MREs. Jack set the watches — himself first, then Carter, then Jacob. She and her dad are both inside the tent now, with boots on and weapons in easy reach. Hell, at least they’re dry. Sort of dry.

The only good thing about the low cloud cover is that it reflects some light — from the snake’s place, presumably. Jack can make out the dark forms of trees and the tent, even without the night-vision goggles. He keeps them on, though.

He’s currently standing against one of those trees, growing soggier despite the USAF-issued rain poncho, and listening very hard. Teal’c’s ears, he thinks, are better than any of theirs; why didn’t they ask Teal’c to come? But that leads to thoughts of asking Daniel, too, if he weren’t injured, and _that_ leads to thoughts of his old team, and Daniel all by himself now on SG-1, and no. It’s a melancholy place. He can’t afford to go there.

Besides, risking his own ass for Carter’s sake is one thing. Dragging their friends into it would have been insane.

Jack takes off his cap, shakes about a quart of water from it, and puts it back on. He flips up his compass and checks the time: an hour still to go. Carter said the nights were long, but she didn’t say they were interminable. He’s been out here for four and a half hours already. If they were at home they could be … well, doing something more interesting, anyway. Like laundry.

Maybe a powerbar. Yes, he’ll have another powerbar — which, by the way, he’s going to swear off again the second he gets home — and that should kill five minutes. He pulls one from his pocket, but before he can tear the wrapper he hears movement from the tent. Carter emerges and comes to stand next to him, blinking.

“You should be asleep,” he whispers, returning his attention to the trees.

“Well, I’m awake.”

“You need to pee or something?”

“No. Well, yes, but that’s not why I —” She stops and shakes her head. “I’ll be right back,” she says, low.

Jack hands her his goggles. “Don’t go far,” he says.

“Yes, Jack.”

“Don’t use any rash-inducing leaves.”

She doesn’t bother to acknowledge that one. Smart woman.

He listens to her stepping carefully through the underbrush, first away from him and then, a couple minutes later, back toward him.

She passes off the goggles. Jack squints at her. She’s got her poncho on, and she’s still wearing the black knit cap to hide her hair. He’s always liked the way she looks in one of those, like a kid on a snow day. Not that he’d dare tell her that in a billion trillion years.

“You’ve got almost an hour left,” he whispers, so quietly he barely hears it himself. “Go back to sleep.”

She takes a deep breath, looking back at the trees. He can’t see much of her face, but he can tell exactly which expression she’s wearing — that twisting thing she does when she knows he isn’t going to like what she has to say. “Jack, I need you to do something for me.”

He puts the goggles back on and scans the trees. Still looks clear. “Sure.”

Another deep breath, and then she whispers, “I need you to try not to bark orders at me.”

“Bark orders?” With the goggles he should have an advantage over her, but it doesn’t help him understand what the hell she’s talking about. Plus, she’s green, and he probably just looks like a moron.

She makes a little annoyed sound in her throat. “Just try. Please?”

_“Bark?”_

“Jack —” She stops.

“Sam,” he whispers, still keeping an eye on the perimeter, “I don’t think I’ve been doing anything different. Have I been doing anything different?”

“No, but …” She shakes her head. “Remember what I said about talking down to me?”

Oh, now that is not playing fair. “Whoa, whoa,” he says. “Giving orders is not the same thing.”

“It feels the same.”

“Huh,” Jack says, wondering, now, if that was a leftover command issue, too. Huh.

Carter lifts her chin and tries for a smile. “It’s just …” One hand flutters as she searches for the right words. “I know it’s dumb. But it doesn’t feel like it’s my CO telling me what to do anymore. It feels like it’s … you.”

Shit, that … makes perfect sense. “That’s not dumb.”

“It puts me on edge,” she says.

Yeah, he remembers, she gave him a pretty evil glare when he told her to set the perimeter. She’s been doing that for days, now that he thinks about it; he should have put it together sooner. He just assumed it was a natural side effect of being cooped up with him and Jacob.

Jack tilts his head, his mouth close to her ear. “I noticed,” he says fondly.

She winces. “Sorry about that.”

God, this is weird. Here he is, on a Goa’uld-infested planet — on watch on a Goa’uld-infested planet, even. He’s dripping rain, he’s holding a zat, he’s looking at his girlfriend through infrared, and they’re discussing … this.

It’s affecting the mission, though, and that has to stop. “I swear to God I’m not trying to piss you off, Sam. But I’m not sure I know how to do this, with you, without being in charge.” He half hopes she’ll have a brilliant answer for him.

“I know it’s not intentional,” she says. “I do, Jack. But I really need you to try. Please?” Okay, it’s not the brilliant answer he wanted, but it’s not an unreasonable request, either.

He squeezes her hand. That’s weird, too, here.

Her head turns as they both hear the tent flap open, and she drops his hand quickly. Oh, crap.

“I’ve got an idea,” Jacob whispers, loudly. “Why don’t you both do what I tell you? You can start by shutting up.”

“Dad —”

“Private conversation here, Jacob.” Okay, Jacob’s right that this isn’t the best place. In his prior life, Jack would never have allowed it. But this whole mission is outside the rules, and Jesus, it’s not like they’re shouting.

“Enemy territory, Jack,” Jacob says, with an ironic and slightly scary grin.

Jack opens his mouth, but Carter’s fingers close painfully around his bicep. He can almost feel her blood pressure spiking. “I’m sorry we woke you, Dad. Would you go back to sleep, please?”

Jacob grunts and drops the tent flap.

She drags Jack by the arm, out of range of Tok’ra ears. “I thought you two had called a truce?”

Jack had, too. Well, they are all stressed out. “More of a provisional cease-fire.”

“Great.”

“Hey, I take what I can get.” He lets himself touch her cheek, and she sighs. “Go to bed, Sam.”

“No, I’m up now. I might as well take over.”

“And send me in there? I don’t think so.”

“Coward.”

“Oh, you betcha.”

She coughs, hiding a laugh. “It’s pointless for us both to get rained on,” she whispers, and pulls the goggles off his head. “Go.”

Jack grumbles, but gives in. Carter wishes him good dreams, and Jack grumbles some more.

Jacob is on his side, facing the tent wall. “It isn’t her watch yet,” he says.

Jack shucks his rain gear. “Yeah, well, some things aren’t worth fighting over.” And he needs to remember that more often. Like now, for instance.

The rain sounds heavier inside the tent, droplets striking taut nylon, and Jack can hear Jacob expel a puff of air. “What the hell are you two thinking, anyway?”

Oh, screw it. “I’m thinking that we’re doing you a favor here, Jacob.” Jack crawls between the two unzipped layers of the sleeping bag Carter just vacated, sticking his boots out the end. He’s wet, he’s tired, and he’s sick of this crap. “At some point you might consider some gratitude.”

He doesn’t get a response.

*

Jacob shakes Jack’s boot just before dawn. Time to go. Jack yawns loudly, feeling Carter jump awake beside him.

“One more day in this hellhole,” she mutters.

Inside the tent it’s still coal-black. Outside the tent it’s sort of charcoal, with a hint of light far off to the east. And the rain’s let up, though the ground must be permanent mush.

They break camp in silence and sit on logs to eat breakfast. Carter yawns, and Jack bumps his shoulder into hers. She bumps back. Jacob doesn’t notice.

It’s six more klicks to their site — “An easy stroll,” Jack whispers. Locate Carter’s new toy with Jacob’s equipment, break out the tunneling crystals, sort through whatever other crap the Tok’ra never bothered to come back for, hike out to the cargo ship, and go home. Easy. They’ll be off this rock by nightfall.

And then there’ll be five more days of bonding, but he’s not going to think about that until he absolutely has to.

“Let’s head out,” Jacob says. “Jack, you take point.”

“Yes, sir,” Jack says, earning himself synchronized Carter eye-rolls. Impressive.

The morning is still a deep gray; they start out with the goggles but take them off after only half an hour. The local birds — or whatever it is that flies and sings around here — wake up as they walk. Jack thinks one of them sounds like a dying loon. On drugs.

He checks his compass, signals to Carter, and edges half a degree to the east.

Jacob’s several meters back, leaving Carter in the middle. Jack can hear her quiet footfalls, the near-silent swish of fabric on fabric. He can pick out the rhythm of her walk by sound alone, even in the dark. He could to do that with Teal’c and Daniel once, too.

He can’t hear Jacob, but he’s sure Carter can. And hell, they might not be on the best of terms right now, but aside from SG-1, there’s nobody Jack trusts more on their six than Jacob.

The sun is rising, casting angles of light through the trees, and something rustles up ahead. Jack halts them and ducks. It’s not moving quietly, so it’s probably nothing, but he isn’t taking any chances. As he crouches, squinting in the direction of the sound, a fuzzy, rabbit-sized thing leaps between two bushes. Jack relaxes a bit, looks over his shoulder at Carter, and catches her small smile. But they stay down a few seconds anyway, just to be sure. They’ve been walking for forty-five minutes.

At about a klick out, Jack hears Carter moving faster, catching up to him. He stops to wait, reads the screen on the little Tok’ra computer, and adjusts their course a couple more degrees to the east. They’re now headed straight for the fortress thing, but with luck, they’ll get off this rock without ever seeing it. Jack really doesn’t want to see it.

Carter sticks close behind him now, and he hears Jacob drawing near, too. Then he catches another sound, much softer than the first — softer, even, than Carter’s footsteps. He holds up a fist and drops down low, intuition telling him that this is no bunny.

Jack signals Jacob to go around to the west; he and Carter will circle to the east. They both nod sharply in response and Jacob disappears. Seconds later, Carter’s at his back as they cautiously advance through the trees. When he looks over his shoulder, she flicks her eyes upwards, and dammit, she’s right. The birds or whatever they are have shut up.

They drop, listen, and assess their tactical situation in a series of hand signals. All Jack can hear is wind and leaves — until a branch cracks to the east.

Crap. Their position is indefensible: the only possible shelter is young pine trees. Why did they head straight in from the ship? Why didn’t they find a way to use the landscape — a ridge, anything — to hide their approach?

Because they all wanted this mission to be over, that’s why. And because they were confident no one would be in their way. Stupid.

Jack hears a staff blast maybe twenty meters to the west; then another, and a clinking of armor, very near, to the south. Carter dives behind a tree, zat aimed flawlessly at the sound.

More metal on metal to the east, and heavier footfalls. Jack signals her to cover the east while he watches the south. Unfortunately, there are two other directions — infinite other directions — and now a good ten feet between him and her. And Jack knows there are far more Jaffa than humans in this equation.

The Jaffa from the south come into sight first. Jack fires his zat, scores, and fires again. He hears Carter firing, too, and a shout from a male that isn’t Jacob. Another Jaffa appears to Jack’s left, but as Jack shoots, three more close in on his position. He lets off a few volleys and makes a run for a new tree.

The staff blast catches him on the back of his left thigh, sending a searing pain up his spine. He stumbles, hears Carter call out his name, and feels another burn strike his shin. This time he slips in the mud and falls flat on his face. Oh, fuck fuck FUCK, those things hurt. When he turns his head to one side to breathe, he can see Carter, and she’s not shooting anymore.

A boot kicks him in the ribs, forcing him to roll over, then presses his scorched thigh into the mud. Jesus.

The Jaffa who belongs to the boot towers over Jack, and the tattoo on his forehead is way too familiar. Oh, crap.

Shoot him, Sam, he thinks. Shoot the bastard. But he hears no more weapons fire, just the pounding of boots toward his position.

“My lord Baal will be pleased, Tau’ri,” the Jaffa intones.

Jack sees the blunt end of a staff weapon heading for his face. “Oh, cra—”

The world goes black.


	5. Chapter 5

When Jack comes to, he’s upright, sort of. Two Jaffa are lugging him by the arms, and his feet are dragging on a stone floor. So much for his plan never to see this place. And the dragging hurts like hell.

He assesses the tactical situation without letting on that he’s conscious. Carter is walking behind — he can hear her — so if she’s injured, she’s at least mobile. There are a couple other Jaffa with her, and one between her and Jack, probably with a weapon fixed on his head. He can’t hear Jacob anywhere.

Internally, the signs are less clear. His head feels as big as a basketball, but he doesn’t think it’s a concussion. He tastes blood; probably just a split lip. The two staff burns haven’t reproduced, though somebody’s tied a tourniquet around his leg — meaning that they want to keep him alive, at least for a while. His ribs ache and he guesses he got kicked some more — a lot more — but he doesn’t feel a break there, either.

No, he knows exactly where the break is: his left ankle. He doesn’t know if they stomped on it or beat it with rocks or what, but oh, it’s definitely broken. Jack tries to relax the leg, to lessen the resistance against the floor.

Nice of them to limit the most severe damage to one extremity. Convenient. Hospitable, even.

He gives up his pretense of unconsciousness when he hears the whine of a force field being powered down. He has an idea what’s about to happen, and he’s right: the Jaffa both tense up and raise Jack’s body, preparing to propel him forward.

“Ow ow ow,” Jack says. “Take it easy on the old guy, will you?”

They don’t take his advice. He’s thrown into a cell, where he falls on his side and rolls over on his back, moaning. Broken bones and staff burns _hurt_. He covers his face with his hands and moans some more.

“This part I have not missed,” he informs the empty cell.

Carter stumbles in after him, and then there’s the whine of the force field, locking them in. Well, at least they’re together. The Goa’uld never were too smart about that, and Baal’s just another Goa’uld, right? So Carter will find a way out, and Jacob will find them, and everything’ll be peachy.

“I need to look at your leg,” Carter says, falling to her knees beside him. He feels one hand on his thigh and one on his knee, and knows she’s about to rip a bigger hole in his pants.

Jack lets his arms drop to the floor. “Carter, stop,” he says. “What the hell was that back there?”

“Which part?” she asks, clearly confused.

“The part where you paid more attention to an injured teammate than you did to the enemy.”

She stares at him, eyes hard and unforgiving. “Go ahead,” she says. “Blame me if you want. Now let me look at this.”

“Carter, no. Just leave it alone.” He scoots backward and leans against the first vertical surface he finds, which happens to be a bench. God, his ankle is trying to burst out of his boot, and his ears ring with questions about a woman he’d barely met.

“Jack, you’re injured.”

“Carter, I don’t want him to know.”

She blinks at him like she thinks he’s finally lost it. “Know what? About us? Because I’m checking your leg?”

“Shhh!” He checks out the door, and then pulls out his best command glare. “Just don’t, okay? It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.”

“What the hell good do you think it would do? I’ve got a tourniquet, so unless you’ve got some antibiotics or a splint, there’s no way you can help.”

She’s seething now, quietly. Six months ago he might not have recognized it. “No way I can help.” Her jaw shifts, and she glances at the force field. Jack does the same. There are still no guards nearby. The Goa’uld were never too smart about that, either.

“Look, you don’t have to like it,” he says. “But the man is a lunatic, in case you haven’t noticed.”

She tilts her head, studies him like an equation she’s just cracked. “He is,” she says softly. “And hopefully you won’t have to see him.” But he catches her gaze flickering to his leg.

“Oh, no,” he says, though he’s not even sure if this is what the flickering was about. “No fucking way. Not even if we trip over the damn thing. _No._” No sarcophagi, for either of them. Absolutely not. He shifts and groans, involuntarily. “Now figure out how we’re going to get out of here, because I do not intend to be a guest in this establishment any longer than I have to.”

“Okay,” she says, shaking her head, but she doesn’t sound mad anymore. She pulls a tiny package from one of her pockets, and tears it open. Advil. It’s not morphine, but it’s still pretty great. She hands him two pills. “Take these, at least. I’ll just go over there and think.”

Jack blinks at her. “How much ya got?”

“Three more doses, so don’t be greedy.”

He swallows them and watches her move across the room. Then he drops his head onto the bench behind him, and attempts to find a decent position for his leg. No luck.

Carter examines the area around the doorway, looking for a control panel. When that doesn’t pan out, she directs her attention to the walls themselves.

They’ve both been through this a hundred times; they both know she won’t find anything. And for some reason that pisses him off.

“He’s smarter than your average snake, Carter. There’s not going to be a loose ventilation panel.”

She stands up straight and stares at him. “You just ordered me to find a way out of here, and now you want me to stop?”

Jack grunts. She has a point, but he’s not ready to concede it.

“Do you work at this, or does it come naturally? Seriously, Jack.”

“I work at it,” he says. “Daily.”

Carter doesn’t bother to answer, just turns back to the stupid hieroglyphs. Jack hauls himself onto the bench, ignoring his protesting ribs, and tries to get comfortable there instead. Goddamn. He broke his right ankle in Little League, sliding back to first after an attempted steal. Now he’ll have a matched set. Break number, what, twelve?

“Try to keep it elevated,” she says softly, not looking at him.

“I know, I know.” He manages to balance his foot in the corner, maybe eighteen inches higher than the rest of him. It might not be the best idea, but he doesn’t feel any new agony, so it’s not the worst idea, either. He grinds his teeth and tries to think about other things.

Unfortunately, the first other thing isn’t a good one. “You know where your dad is?” he asks.

“No,” she says. “I didn’t see him. They didn’t say anything.”

“Maybe none of them saw him, either.”

“Maybe.” But Jack heard staff fire in Jacob’s direction, and he knows she did, too.

Well, there’s nothing they can do about that until they find a way out. In the meantime, he might as well lie here and grind his teeth.

*

Jack dozes a little. Or passes out, whatever. The pain from the burns is worse now, and he knows the muddy one is going to get infected. The good news is that the rest of his leg has fallen asleep from lack of blood and is now tingling, not exactly pleasantly, but less excruciatingly.

Carter’s watching him; he can feel it. He gives up, decides he really is awake, and angles his head so he can see her.

“You okay?” she asks from the only other bench, across the cell.

“No,” he says. He lies flat again. He knows, even from here, that her body is as tight as a bow string. “We have any visitors?”

“No, nothing. It’s been five hours.”

Five? Really? He’d thought maybe one. “You know, some food would be nice. Little wine …”

“How did they know?”

Jack turns back to the other bench. “Huh?”

“Baal’s Jaffa. How did they know where to find us?”

“Hell, I don’t know. Maybe they detected the ship through the cloak, tracked us somehow. Maybe they were just on patrol.”

Her clothing rustles as she pulls her knees up and rests her chin on one of them. “I don’t think so.” But she says nothing else, and Jack can almost hear her brain spinning at top speed. That’s good. Spinning Carter brain is good.

“So,” he says, “how’re we getting out of here, Carter?”

“I’m still working on that.”

“You’ll get it,” he says. Because she will — she always does — but mostly because there’s no way he can go through that again. None.

“You know,” and she hesitates, “Baal might not even know who he’s got yet.”

Jack doesn’t want to be mollified. “Two members of SG-1? I think he’ll figure it out.”

“We’re not —”

“Oh, no, we are not having that conversation here.”

“Fine. I just meant that he hasn’t seen us, yet. That might be an advantage.”

“Well, thank you for trying to reassure me, Carter. It’s not working, by the way.”

“Maybe we’ll be lucky anyway.”

Jack’s not going to bet on it.

*

They’re not lucky.

When Baal shows up to gloat, he’s got half a dozen Jaffa at his back, all dressed almost as gaudily as the snake himself. He’s also got a smug smile that Jack wants to slice right off his face.

So much for not knowing who he’s got. Jack struggles to his feet, desperately pretending it’s not a struggle, and out of the corner of his eye he can see Carter glancing in his direction. He doesn’t glance back.

“Baal,” he says, ignoring the way his heart’s speeding up. “Always such a pleasure.”

The smug smile deepens. “Oh, yes, Colonel O’Neill. A pleasure. And it’s so kind of you to bring a friend this time.”

“I live to please,” Jack says.

“What do you want?” Carter asks. She’s up now, too, her shoulders squared, her hands in fists against her thighs. “Because we’d be happy to just get out of your way.”

Baal turns to her, and Jack’s stomach drops. “We have captured your other associate. Unfortunately, he’s proving to be highly resistant to torture.”

Shit, Jacob.

“Good for him,” Carter says.

“It’s the Tok’ra,” Baal says conversationally. “All that talk of blending, two minds in one body, when in truth they’re just as happy to let the host suffer and die. But I don’t need to remind you of that, do I, O’Neill?”

Jack forces his face to stay still, and notices that Carter’s not budging, either. Just another snake, just another snake. “You know, I’d love to sit around and reminisce,” he says, “but maybe we could move this along?”

Baal laughs, and Jack feels a cold twist in his gut. “I’m not sure you want that, Colonel.” Then he focuses on Carter again, and the cold in Jack’s gut radiates through his bones. “I happen to own a piece of equipment I can’t seem to operate,” Baal says. “It must be malfunctioning. I’m told this is your area of expertise, Major Carter.”

Wait, no, this isn’t right.

“Sorry, I don’t think I can help you,” she says. Jack hears the hitch in her voice, but he doubts Baal does. “I’m not all that bright.”

“Perhaps not. But I’m confident I can change your mind.” He cocks his head. “Eventually.”

Oh, Jesus. No. This is not how it’s supposed to go. _No._ Jack looks at Carter, finally, but she doesn’t turn away from Baal.

“Bring the woman,” Baal says, turning to go, and two of the guards lower the force shield.

_No,_ Jack wants to say, as the guards enter the cell. _No, you don’t want her. It’s me you want. Take me._ But all that comes out is air, while his mouth works silently. One of the Jaffa grabs Carter by the elbow, and Jack’s voice still won’t work, and they take her away.

*

Five minutes later, he’s got a lot to say. He says, “Oh, fuck fuck FUCK,” and he says, “Damn you, Jacob,” and he says, “And damn her, too, for agreeing to this fucked-up plan,” and then he says, “Fuck,” some more.

And Jack just watched her go. Jesus. That’s not — God, it isn’t like him, and it isn’t right. It was supposed to be him, dammit. But Carter — _Sam_ — with Baal, and Baal’s knives, and oh, God. No.

Jack chews on his lower lip until it starts bleeding again, and tries to distract himself with the question of what, exactly, Baal wants her to tell him. All the possibilities he comes up with make no sense. The Goa’uld don’t need her help with technology. She’s brilliant, and she could probably teach them a thing or two, but Jack can’t believe Baal would ever admit that.

And he said nothing. They took her, and she didn’t look back, and he said _nothing_. Of all the possible times to forget how to talk. _Fuck._

He gets up, finally, and stands inches from the force shield, barely feeling the break or the burns. “Hey!” he shouts. “Jaffa! Kree, you bastards! I want to talk to Baal!”

Nobody answers, not even to laugh at the crazy Tau’ri.


	6. Chapter 6

It’s hours before anyone approaches the cell. Jack bangs on walls, peers through the force shield, shouts whenever he hears footsteps.

God, he’s such an idiot. He should have stopped them. He should have. He pictures her in the same room he was in, even though that was light years from here, and all he can do is yell to an empty corridor.

By the time three Jaffa come into his view, he’s mostly yelled himself out. His throat burns. “I need to talk to your boss,” Jack says.

Two of the Jaffa stand back against the opposite wall. The third, much older, looks Jack in the eye. “That is unlikely,” he says.

“Yeah, I know. He’s busy.”

The Jaffa presses a switch on the wall, and the shield whirs off just long enough to let him step inside. He looks maybe five years younger than Jack, which probably means he’s a hundred and twenty. The tattoo on his forehead is black, like the others’: he’s not Baal’s first prime.

“She is your woman?” he asks.

Jack imagines Carter breaking the guy’s jaw. Jack likes imagining that. “She’s nobody’s woman.”

The other man grins. “My wife is much the same. We have been married for sixty-three years.”

Charming, but Jack doesn’t give a shit. “How nice for you.”

At a signal from the older Jaffa, the guards outside check the hallway and then nod, presumably meaning the coast is clear. Or whatever the equivalent is in Goa’uld.

“Colonel O’Neill,” the one in the cell says, “I am Sul’kesh. I am the commander of this base and one of the leaders of the rebellion within Baal’s army.”

“Well, that’s convenient.”

“For you, yes.”

Jack frowns. He doesn’t recognize the name — which could mean nothing; he’s met only a few out of tens of thousands of rebels — and he can’t tell yet if the guy is lying through his teeth.

“It is less convenient for us,” Sul’kesh says. “But we are prepared to engineer your escape.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“You do not.”

“Fair enough.” Points for honesty, at least. Jack leans against the bumpy, gold wall. “So tell me about this rebellion of yours.”

“This is a distant outpost, O’Neill. Surely I know no more than you.”

“Try me.”

He gets a narrow glare for that. “I am here to help you. I could just as easily walk away.”

“You could. But think about it. You obviously know who I am. Wouldn’t you want to know a little about the guy you’re considering entrusting with your life?” And with Carter’s, too.

Sulky makes a sound low in his throat. “I received a coded message from Malek some days ago, from the planet you call Alpha,” he says. So this isn’t such a distant outpost, after all. “It contained the news that Teal’c has left your service and returned to the Jaffa. I find it difficult to believe that you are the man for whom Teal’c abandoned his family.”

“So do I, to tell you the truth.”

It seems to be a good answer; Sul’kesh nods thoughtfully.

“You’re glad he did, though, right?” Jack says, and he can tell the Jaffa hears the real question. Okay, points for smarts, too.

“I had two sons,” Sul’kesh says. “They both died young, waging needless wars in the name of Baal. That creature is no god. A true god would show mercy.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack says. He honestly is.

Sul’kesh acknowledges Jack’s sympathy with a nod. “I wish my daughter and her children to die free, and I have been convinced that certain of the Tau’ri are instrumental to this cause.” He relaxes his grip on his staff weapon. “Why do you fight the Goa’uld?”

“Because they’re evil, mostly.”

“That is also a good reason.”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “Hey, if you don’t mind, I’m just going to sit down. Your guys have good aim.”

“They have, indeed.”

Jack settles onto the bench, adjusting his weight to his right hip. This guy could still be playing him, but Jack believes the stuff about his kids. No question. “What’s he doing to her?”

“I do not believe he will kill her,” Sul’kesh says, with what Jack thinks might be compassion. “Baal wishes to make use of the device that was recovered in the Tok’ra tunnels. He will not risk damaging her mind as long as he believes she can assist him.”

Wait, the device from the tunnels? The power source? The thing they dragged their asses halfway across the galaxy to get? Jack’s insides twist again. He’d assumed that Baal didn’t know why they were here. “Oh, fantastic,” he says.

“It is not welcome news that he will not risk her death?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jack says. “Yeah, it’s swell news.” Oh, God, Carter. Please don’t be too convincing when you say you know nothing. _Please_. “What about our other friend? Is he still alive?”

“We have as yet been unable to locate him.”

Well, that’s something. So Baal’s full of crap, which is not a surprise, but Jack wishes he could let Carter know that her dad’s not being tortured concurrently with her.

“He’ll want to get in here and get us out,” Jack says.

“I have instructed my men to prevent that.”

“Excuse me?”

“It would complicate matters, O’Neill. The fewer of you there are, the safer my men will be in helping you.”

“Hmm,” Jack says.

Sul’kesh sighs. Jack’s probably ticking him off already; he has that effect on people. “I will see that you go free,” Sul’kesh says. “But I will dictate how you do it. Those are my terms.”

Jack knows it’s the best offer he’s going to get today. So he says yes.

*

Jack waits, once Sul’kesh is gone. Jack hates waiting. He concentrates on the shield, willing it to drop. But he doesn’t hear them coming until Carter falls on the floor and the force field whines back to life. God, he must be losing it already, if he can fall asleep by accident. Shit.

“Carter! Jesus, are you okay?” His voice is scratchy and thin. He slides gingerly off his bench and crawls over to her.

She groans, brushes a knuckle against his arm. “It was just a hand device,” she says.

Yeah. _Just_ a hand device. He checks her out briefly. Her bones look whole; her BDUs are intact. But her forehead is lined with pain, and she squints up at him. “You were gone a long time,” he says.

Carter takes a deep, shaky breath. “God, I feel sick.” It’s not something she’d normally admit.

“Here.” Jack takes off his jacket, folds it, and lifts her head to slide in the makeshift pillow. She’s still breathing deeply and wearing an expression of distaste, like she has bile at the back of her throat. He wishes he had some water, but she might not keep it down, anyway.

She brings a fist to her mouth, stops herself, and tugs the cuff of her jacket back down over her wrist. Oh, that cannot be good.

The doorway is clear again, so Jack puts a hand to her forehead, to shade her eyes a little. He’s only felt the hand device a few times — and only for a few seconds, never like this — but he remembers being sensitive to light for hours afterwards.

Carter swallows. “Thanks,” she says. “That helps.”

Jack angles his fingers lower, giving her as much darkness as he can, and checks the doorway again. Sul’kesh might have arranged for them to be left alone. Or he might not.

Her voice startles him. “Jack, he has it. The power source.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

Lashes flutter under his palm. “What?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell you later.”

She grabs his arm and shoves it out of the way — so she can glare at him, apparently. Jack notes that, yes, there are red welts on her wrist. She was tied up, or chained. “Jack, I’m fine,” she says. “Worry about what?”

“Well, he’s lying about Jacob, for starters.”

She begins to lift her head, and grimaces in pain. “How do you know that? Is he here?”

“Lie down,” he says. “He’s not here. But Baal’s got a little pest problem. Rebel Jaffa.”

The creases in her forehead relax a little. “You talked to them?”

“One. Fellow by name of Sulky stopped by. Nice guy. Little intense.”

“I know you know his name, Jack,” she says, one corner of her mouth curling slightly.

Jack attempts a grin. “Sul’kesh,” he says. “They’re looking for Jacob. Hopefully they’ll find him before the bad guys do.”

“You trust him?” She frowns.

“Not exactly. I think he really hates Baal, though. That’s always a plus.”

Carter makes a small sound of assent. “Is there any food?”

“From them, no.” To weaken their resistance, no doubt. But Jaffa often forget to search cargo pockets. “I’ve got half a powerbar. You hungry?”

“Just a couple bites. Might settle my stomach a little.”

She chews carefully, and swallows even more carefully. “You eat the rest,” she says, handing back the last quarter. She needs to eat, but Jack doesn’t feel like arguing about it. He folds it up in the wrapper and puts it away. She covers her eyes again. “They’re going to get us out, right?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Did he say when he’d come back?”

“When Baal’s in his sarcophagus. Don’t suppose he told you his schedule for the rest of the day?”

She smiles. “No.” Then her hand moves, to rub his arm. “How’re you?”

“Leg’s about the same. But we’ll be gone before it matters.”

He knows she’s not asking about his leg, though. She studies him, and sighs. “That’s all I’m going to get, isn’t it?”

She knows he doesn’t like to talk about Baal; why would she think he’d change his mind _now_? “Yup,” he says.

She snorts softly, shaking her head in disbelief, and looks away.

He really doesn’t make it easy on her, does he?

Jack pulls at the threads of his pants, where the fabric’s been burned away. He can still smell his own burned flesh. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“For what? It’s not your fault we’re here.”

“It’s not yours, either.”

She turns to look up at him, and her hand falls to the floor by her head.

“I shouldn’t have given you a hard time about getting caught,” he says. “I’d have lost focus, too, if it’d been you.” It’s not what he wants to say, but it’s what he can say, right now.

She stares at him. “I didn’t lose focus,” she says testily. “They had seven staff weapons trained on you.”

“Oh.” Jack feels even more like an ass. “I didn’t know that.”

“No, you didn’t. And I was talking about the mission.”

Now he’s confused. “Talking about the mission when?”

“Jack, you’re only here because of me, and I’m only here because of Dad. So if it’s anybody’s fault, it’s definitely not yours.”

“Well, by my math, it’s not yours, either.”

He thinks she disagrees. And then he thinks he sees a much older hurt, so he tries to head it off before it can take full form. “And neither was the last time I paid Baal a visit, so don’t start.”

Carter looks relieved that he’s brought it up, but she sighs just the same. “You said you wished we’d just let you die. You said that more than once.”

“Can we not get into this now?” He said that when he was detoxing, for God’s sake.

“You did, Jack.”

“I know, Carter. I was there.”

Carter gets that super-vulnerable look on her face, and Jack tries not to let it piss him off. “And now?” she asks.

Well, yeah, he does still think death would have been better than his previous sojourn with this particular reptile. He just isn’t dumb enough to say it. “Sam, I was talking about the situation. It doesn’t mean I’d rather be dead now.” And everything he’s learned about her in the last few months tells him she wants to hear more, so he says more. “I’m kind of fond of now,” he says. “Well, not _now_. But … now.” He tries to devise a hand signal for _everything except you being tortured by my least favorite Goa’uld and me being scared shitless_, and ends up drawing a big circle in the air.

“Okay,” she says. Jack can feel some of the tension leeching from her body.

He lays his hand back on her forehead, listening to her breathe.

*

She sleeps a little, wakes up, draws the sleeve of his jacket over her eyes, and sleeps some more. She’s restless, reaching out for him, he thinks. Jack looks her over more closely; aside from the wrists, which also have a decent shot at infection, he doesn’t see any other injuries. Nothing broken, nothing swollen. He lifts her shirt, and her chest and stomach are okay, too.

Later, he leans against the wall — slouched down so he won’t put any weight on his left thigh — and thinks about how sore his back will be when they make it out.

He hopes, again, that Baal didn’t buy it when Carter told him she couldn’t use that thing. It’s a crazy thing to hope for, but he thinks Sul’kesh was right: Baal will keep her alive as long as he believes she knows something he doesn’t. Jack also thinks that before Baal risks killing Carter, he’ll use Jack against her.

God, that light, every time he woke up and remembered where he was. Every time he opens his eyes here, he sees that light.

Jack’s not afraid to die. He just knows he’ll survive, one way or another, and that’s worse.

A Jaffa patrol, a small one by the sound of it, marches down a corridor some distance from their cell. “Good Jaffa,” Jack mumbles. “Gooood Jaffa. Stay far away.”

He feels warm, sits up to take off his jacket, and realizes he already did that, hours ago: Carter’s using it as a pillow. He slides down a couple inches on the wall.

“Jack.”

Jack starts. Forcing his eyelids up is harder than it’s supposed to be, and the cell is too bright. “What?” he asks, a little annoyed. He checks his watch: they’ve been in here just over a day.

Carter hasn’t moved. “He knew what we came here for,” she says. “He knew where to find it.”

Oh. That. “Jacob was right, then.” Jack doesn’t feel too much remorse there, though he is pissed that they walked into a trap. And where the hell is Jacob, anyway? If he’s dead, Jack’s going to kill him.

“Yeah,” she says, distracted. He tries to figure out where her brain is hurtling off to, almost gives up, and then groans as the pieces slot together.

“He talked to the Tok’ra before we left, didn’t he?”

“One. He said it was encrypted.”

“And yet another thing it might’ve been nice to know ahead of time. I love your dad, Carter, but — ”

“Jack.”

Right. He shuts up.

“He talked to Selmak’s closest ally. They’ve been friends for something like twelve hundred years.”

“Aw, crap.” It’s not like Jack gives a shit about Tok’ra internal affairs. But Jacob will be, well, maybe not devastated, but _really mad_. And so is Jack, since Selmak’s closest ally sold them all upriver. “How the hell do we fix that?”

“From in here? I don’t think we do.” She says nothing for a while, just stares at the gaudy ceiling. And then, finally: “God, I hope he’s okay.”

Yeah. Jack does, too. “Carter?”

“Hmm?”

“We’re never gonna do this again, right?”

She laughs, quick and sharp and angry. “Oh, hell no,” she says. “Never. Ever.”

“Just checking,” Jack says, and tries to believe they’ll have the chance to say no.

*

They get food and two small cups of water, eventually, from the two Jaffa who accompanied Sul’kesh earlier. Neither makes eye contact, which could imply a hundred different things Jack’s not going to think about now.

Carter wrinkles her nose and shoves the dish of gray-green mush aside. There’s some flat, brown thing, too. That she ignores. “Later,” she says. “I’m going to clean those burns first.”

“We should drink the water, Carter.”

“We will. One of the cups.” She assesses his leg, and his position, and apparently decides that the burn on his thigh needs her attention first. “Now roll over.”

He looks at the door. He can’t see anything, but it sounded like Sul’kesh’s Jaffa didn’t retreat very far.

She sees him look. “What, it’s okay when my head feels like it’s going to blow, but not when you’re risking infection?”

“It’s not infected,” he says. Only it is, and he knows she knows it, and he doesn’t know why he’s being so stubborn about this one stupid thing. Just — the thought of Baal using her to get to him, or the other way around, makes him want to kick a wall. With his bad foot.

“Jack, you’re being ridiculous, you know that, right?”

He tries to summon his CO voice. “Carter, not now, okay?”

Her eyes turn steely, her nostrils flaring. It makes Jack’s head throb. “That’s it,” she says. Her voice is low and dangerous. “I am fed up with this crap. Now roll over, or I swear to God, Jack —”

He doesn’t dare ask, _Or what?_ “Geez,” he grumbles. “Okay, okay.” He rolls onto his right side. “Christ, Sam, they kicked me in the ribs. This is not pleasant.”

“How old are you? Ten?” But she no longer sounds like she might tear his head off.

“I refuse to answer — OW! Jesus! You could warn a guy, Carter!”

“You hate being warned first.” She tears the cotton further, pours another trickle of water, probes with her fingers. Jack knows the burn must be blistered, and bright red with infection, and the bolt of pain that comes with her touch confirms his assessment.

He clenches his jaw. That hurts, dammit. Okay, maybe he is ten. “Damn you,” he says. “You’re right.”

“I know I am.”

The burn on his calf isn’t as bad, and doesn’t hurt as much. She examines the skin around the edges. “Jack,” she says while she dabs it with water. He can’t see her face. “I know he scares you more than the others.”

“Carter, I’m not —”

She talks over him, raising her voice a little. “But I’m on your side, remember?”

Oh, that doesn’t make him feel guilty at all. “United front,” he says.

“Yes, please.”

He hears her tearing fabric that doesn’t belong to him, and tries to see over his shoulder. “Hey, I’d prefer it if you stayed fully clothed around here.”

“Funny.” Another rip. “It’s just the lining of my jacket. Now be quiet.”

She takes off the filthy tourniquet and ties the best bandages she can. Then she pokes around his ankle. Jack bites down hard. “Sam, it’s broken. Trust me.”

“I don’t know if I should set it.”

“Please don’t set it.”

“Well,” and he can hear the indecision in her voice, “your foot’s at a normal angle. It looks like a clean break, at least.”

“Yeah,” he says, his teeth still clenched tightly. “How’d they do that, anyway?”

“Um. Your boot got tangled in a stump and they yanked it free.”

“Oh, very nice.” Fun for her to watch, too. Not.

“The leather’s probably giving it more support than anything I could come up with,” she muses. The leather feels like a vise, and the swelling extends halfway to his knee. But it’ll only balloon up more if she takes it off.

“Yes. Yes, it’s good just like that. It’s great. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I think.”

Jack lies awkwardly on his back again, his head resting on one arm.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” she says. “You’re going to have to sit up to drink that water.”

“Trust me, I will not get too comfortable.” Another hot wave of pain runs up through his hip. “Shit. Can I have some more of those pills?”

“Oh. Yeah. Of course.” She tears one packet open, gives him the cup so he can swallow, and hands him the other two packets without saying anything. Jack gets it, though: _take these in case we’re separated._ “You keep one,” he says.

“Jack, I’m fine.” And she pats his good thigh. Then she kneels, and stands — unsteadily, he thinks — so she can search the walls again. Her fingers, as she touches the hieroglyphs, are shaking.

Jack just watches her this time. It probably is pointless, but he doesn’t mind anymore. When she was under his command, he thought one of the most valuable assets she brought to the team was her refusal to give up, no matter how hopeless it looked.

Shit, this is not how it was supposed to go. And this is not how Jack wants to go, not even once. But he’s pretty good at not giving up, too.

He checks the doorway. Still clear. And he keeps watching her precise movements, her muscles strained, her jaw clenched.

Get us the hell out of here, willya, Sulky?

“You know,” he says, “My parents drove each other nuts.”

She bends down, attempting to loosen the top of the far bench, and asks absently, “Yeah?”

“I mean, seriously crazy.”

Carter stops for a second, casting a sly glance back in his direction. She is so onto him. “Crazy, huh?” She turns back to the wall above the bench. Her fingertips glide along the surface. “Over what?”

Yeah, take the bait, Carter. Good girl. “Everything,” he says. “Politics. Movies. When to plant the garden. Which gas station to go to.” He shrugs, which is a mistake on a hard floor. Ouch. “They liked it.”

She doesn’t look at him, but he can make out a ghost of a smile from this angle. “They challenged each other,” she says.

“That’s a charitable way to put it.”

“Come on.” She finds one of those bird symbols that’s sometimes a doorknob, and covers every millimeter. “You said they liked it. For 43 years, apparently.”

Huh. When did he tell her that? “43,” he confirms. And when his mother died of lung cancer, his father, ten years older, wasted away in less than a year. Not that Jack would recommend that, but there was something very loyal about it.

“My parents never argued.”

Jack’s breath catches, and he coughs, which hurts a _lot_. “Please,” he says. “I have met your father.”

“I know, hard to imagine, isn’t it?” She rubs the edge of one of the symbols, then pushes off the wall and sits, pulling her legs up. She wraps her ams around her ankles. “They probably did and just wouldn’t let us see. My mom … she was really softspoken and it took a lot to work her up. But when she reached her limit she’d get this _look_.” Carter laughs softly. It’s not convincing. “She always got what she wanted after that.”

“I have so much trouble picturing this.” He believes it, though, from the pictures in her house — Jacob obviously worshipped his wife; he still wears his wedding ring, for God’s sake — and from the Carter he sees sometimes, the one he’s always assumed didn’t come from Jacob’s genes. The one who can say _please_ and get him to put a snake in his head.

“Oh, he’s never been like that with anybody else, believe me.” She chuckles, but he can hear the undertone of fear in her voice. “When I was a teenager, I thought she was just subservient, and I didn’t want to be like that. It took me a couple decades to realize I was wrong.”

“You know you’re not always going to get what you want with me, right?”

She snorts. He’s caught her off guard again. “Oh, I have a pretty good idea.”

“Just checking.”

Carter gives him a warm smile, then turns her head a little and rests her cheek on her knees. He hears a little sigh he knows he wasn’t supposed to hear.

Yeah, the point of this conversation was to get her mind off other things — Calming Carter Down, version three — and it worked for him, too. But he can’t stop what comes out of his mouth next. “Tell him whatever he wants to hear,” he says.

She doesn’t move. “Jack … ”

“Make it up. Make up iris codes if he wants them. Tell him he could use that thing if he had some other impossible thing. Whatever you have to do to keep him talking.”

Carter’s no cadet; she knows how to stay alive just as well as he does. She puts her chin on one knee and stares at him, open and honest. “He hasn’t asked for iris codes,” she says. “And we don’t have a garden and we have never argued about which gas station to go to.”

“No, but we have had words about that crap you put in your car.”

“Jack.”

He likes this rant. It’s one of his favorites. “It’s a waste of money, Carter. Regular works just as well in a car as new as yours.”

She knows as much about cars as he does, too — probably more. But she’s smiling now. “Jack — ”

He’s closer to the door; he hears the footsteps first. He shakes his head, knowing she’ll understand.

If those bastards are coming to take her away again —

Then he sees the face. Sul’kesh.

“Sulky! Buddy! Where’ve you been?”

Sul’kesh looks ready to bolt. He must think these Tau’ri are whacked.

Carter ignores Jack and walks to the doorway. “Sul’kesh,” she says. “Samantha Carter.”

“I am aware.” The Jaffa looks her up and down — and he’d better be making sure she’s not injured — then does the same to Jack. “How is he?” he asks Carter.

“Not good.” She glances at Jack, and he can tell she’s about to ask what she considers a stupid question. “You wouldn’t have any medical supplies, would you? Bandages, antibiotics?”

The question seems to puzzle him. “We are Jaffa,” he says.

She winces. “Yeah. How about some more water? Can you do that?”

Sul’kesh nods solemnly. “I will have it brought to you.”

“Thank you.”

“So,” Jack says. He’s starting to feel invisible, down here on the floor, and he’d really like to leave now, thanks. “Who’s got a plan?”

Carter grimaces an apology, but the Jaffa looks amused. As much as Jack can tell these things, with Jaffa who aren’t Teal’c.

“I am sorry I have not yet been able to secure your escape,” Sul’kesh says. “Baal has not retired to his sarcophagus.”

“How often does he use it?” Carter asks.

“Sometimes he will go without for three or four days. Occasionally longer. His host is not much older than I.”

Carter’s shoulders droop, just enough for Jack to see. They’ve only been in the cell for thirty-one hours. Jack feels queasy, and tells himself it’s just a fever.

Sul’kesh checks out the corridor behind him. Jack can only see the hand of one guard, holding a staff weapon. “When he retires,” Sul’kesh says, his face close to the force field, “one of my men will bring you sustenance. You will overpower him and the guard.”

“We need weapons,” she says.

“Yes. You will take their zatnik’tels and shoot them.”

“Excuse me?” Jack asks. “Shoot the good guys?”

“You will only shoot them once, O’Neill,” Sul’kesh says dryly. “It is for their safety. There cannot be any evidence of collusion.”

“No, of course not,” Carter says. “We’ll make it look good.”

“Yes. You must do so.” Sulky sighs, probably at having to explain such basic concepts to humans. “I will place as many of my men as possible in your path. They will not resist you.”

“But we’ll have to shoot them, too,” Carter says.

“Yes.” He watches Carter exchange a look with Jack. “They will not be permanently harmed,” he says.

“No,” Carter says. “We’ll only shoot once.” Jack hears a thread of humor in that, and sees that Sulky heard it, too. Not only does the guy give a shit about his subordinates, he even gets a joke.

“You remember the way you were led in?” Sul’kesh asks Carter.

She’s got it memorized, Jack knows. Old habits. “Yes,” she says.

“You will exit the same way. Go northwest. My men will meet you and procure you a ship.”

Jack is sensing some holes in this plan. Non-rebel Jaffa, for one.

“We have a ship,” Carter says.

Sulky shakes his head. “There is no time to reach it. I cannot guarantee that your absence will not be noted immediately.”

“Hey, Sul’kesh,” Jack says. They both shift their attention to him. “How many of the Jaffa on this planet are yours?”

“Approximately one in five.”

Jack shrugs. They’ve faced worse odds, that’s for sure. He catches Carter’s eye before she turns back to Sul’kesh.

“What about our friend?” she asks. “Have you found him? Has Baal?”

“We have not. We have seen his footprints, however. We believe he is alive.”

“Was there blood?” Carter asks.

“A small amount. I do not believe he has suffered a debilitating injury.”

Carter nods, and Sul’kesh observes both of them, slowly. “You understand what you must do?”

“We understand,” Carter says. “And we’re very grateful. Thank you, Sul’kesh.” She pauses. “We have to ask you for one more thing, though.”

Sul’kesh cocks his head.

“The machine that Baal has, that was in the old tunnels,” she says. “We need it.”

The Jaffa looks like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. Jack’s not sure he can, either. Screw besting Anubis — he wants to get her the hell out of here, and it’d be swell if he and Jacob got to go along, too.

“It is in the chamber. You have seen it,” Sul’kesh says, obviously convinced that that will be the end of that.

“I know. And we know it’s a risk for us to get it. But it really is important, Sul’kesh.” She looks back at Jack, and Jack holds his breath, fighting down nausea. If Sulky’s just playing them for information, what she says next could screw them all. “It might help us fight the Goa’uld,” she says. “All of us.”

“But you are not certain of this.”

Carter sighs. “No, we’re not. But we’re … hopeful.”

Sul’kesh assesses them both for a minute, and jerks his chin. “I am hopeful, also,” he says. He forehead creases as he thinks. “Can you reach the chamber, and then continue on to the exit?”

Carter thinks, too. “I can,” she says. “Yes. I know the way.”

“It will be much more difficult for you to escape by this route. More dangerous for us, as well. You are certain it is worth the risk?”

Jack isn’t.

“Yes,” Carter says. “We’re certain.”


	7. Chapter 7

When Sul’kesh’s footsteps have faded, Carter lies down next to Jack, on the floor. She looks sick again.

Jack waits a minute, deciding whether to ask. “Carter,” he says slowly, “you’re really sure it’s the power source? You’re sure we need it?”

“Yes.”

“That’s it? ‘Yes’?”

She turns her head, and she is not pleased. “Yes, Jack. It’s the same type of trinium, the same design. I had a while to look at it. I could see where the elements connect.”

He’s too worn out to formulate an actual opinion. “You’re really sure?”

“Yes, Jack.” She sits up, and she must notice that he’s close to drifting off. “Don’t sleep yet. You need to eat some of this green stuff.”

“Oh, that sounds incredibly appetizing, thank you.”

She smiles at him as she reaches for the bowl. Jack swallows as much as he can bear — it tastes like Cream of Wheat made with burnt celery — and slides into sleep hoping the taste will be gone when he opens his eyes again.

It’s the Jaffa who wake him up. He checks his watch; he’s been out for at least three hours. They storm into the cell, and don’t even react to Jack’s demands to take him instead. Carter does, though. She tells him with her eyes to shut the fuck up.

So he gets in their way instead, but even he knows that’s a joke. A staff weapon smacks into his stomach, and he lands on his ass. The force shield covers the doorway again. Fuck.

He wonders, as he sits there, if those are Sulky’s men, if they know what’s going to happen to her, if there’s anything they can do to make a hand device hurt less, if they’d do it if there were.

He pushes himself to his feet and goes to the door, not caring about his ankle. He hits the wall, slaps the shield.

He realizes quickly that slapping the force shield was a stupid thing to do, and shakes out his hand until the pins and needles stop. They’re big needles. Ow.

Then he spends a while wondering if the pins and needles would cover up the pain in his leg, or worsen it. Unable to reach a conclusion on that, he hops to a bench, sits, stares at the ugly gold wall, and tries not to think. He can make himself numb if he wants to. He’s good at it, normally.

Today, he hears an old recording in his head, of Baal’s voice and Baal’s laugh, but this time it’s Carter replying with Jack’s words. He covers his ears, but that only makes it louder.

And then he hears faint footsteps, long before they turn down the corridor to the cell. It’s only one person, so it can’t be Carter, but it’s a lot better than his own personal soundtrack.

Whoever it is comes nearer, stops. Jack watches, waiting for something to happen, and Jacob Carter peeks around the door jamb.

“Jacob?” Jack says sharply. “What the hell are you doing here?” He hobbles back over to the doorway.

Jacob watches him, hands on hips. His shirt is torn at the chest, the jacket singed on both sleeves. He’s still got his pack. “I thought I might rescue you,” he says. “And it’s good to see you, too. Where’s Sam?”

Putting weight on his injured ankle would be better than telling Jacob. So Jack does that, first, and concentrates on the pain. “She’s … Baal’s questioning her.” Jacob starts. Funny, Baal’s interest in Carter must not have occurred to Jacob any more than it did to Jack. “He thinks that thing is a weapon,” Jack says. “He wants her to tell him how to use it.”

“That thing?”

“You know, the power thing? The one we came here for?”

“Baal has the power supply?” His face shifts through several different emotions while he assembles the implications. He settles on enraged. “Well, she doesn’t know how to use it,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the universe.

“Duh.” Oh, very mature, Jack.

Jacob studies him. “Did he ask you, too?”

“No. I’m yesterday’s toy.”

“Well, shit,” Jacob says.

“I know. He only used the hand device last time, though, so … ” Jack waves one hopeful hand in the air.

“Last time?”

“Yeah.” He tries to see past Jacob, down the corridor. “Listen, Jacob, this might not be the best place for you to be.”

“And it’s the best place for you to be? Come on, we’ve got to get out of here and find Sam.” And he reaches for the controls outside the cell.

“No, listen — ” But they both stop and turn toward the sound of several Jaffa approaching.

“Okay, you gotta hide,” Jack whispers. “I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come back.”

Jacob frowns, but disappears in the opposite direction from the Jaffa. Jack looks at the time again. She’s been gone for just about four hours; they’ve been in Goa’uld custody for forty-one.

He stands as close to the electric field as he dares, and waits to see her hair.

It’s her, and Sulky, and at least one of the guards Sulky brought before. Jack isn’t sure about the other one, and he’s more interested in Carter right now, anyway.

She looks like crap. Her skin is the same gray-green as their dinner, and she seems to move in slow motion. Sul’kesh lets down the force shield and hands her off to Jack.

“I am sorry, O’Neill,” he says. So the Jaffa are both loyal to him, then.

Jack can barely support her, and she doesn’t weigh much. “You okay?” he asks as he leads her to the nearest bench.

“No,” she says, lying down. “But yes.”

Jack sits beside her, his hand on her belly, the Jaffa forgotten. She groans, says, “Oh, God,” and leans over the edge to retch.

There isn’t much in there, a few bites of the burnt celery stuff. Jack finds it hard not to follow her example, but he holds her head until she draws back and lies down again.

Sul’kesh shifts, no doubt planning to give them some privacy. Jack holds up a hand to stop him.

“Better?” he asks Carter quietly.

“A little.”

So he motions Sul’kesh to come nearer. Sul’kesh, in turn, signals his men to take up posts in the corridor. “What is it, O’Neill?” he asks, bending down.

“Yeah, we might have a slight problem. Or not.”

Sul’kesh just looks puzzled as Jack stumbles to the doorway and sticks his head out. “Jacob!” he says in his loudest whisper.

Carter stirs behind him. “What? Is he here?”

“Yes, he’s here. Jacob!”

There’s movement, and the guards both jump, training their weapons on the new player. Jacob freezes, hands in the air.

“No, it’s okay,” Jack tells them, waving the staff weapons down. “He’s with us.”

The guards look to Sulky, who nods but doesn’t look thrilled, and the weapons go back to neutral. Jacob enters the cell.

“You do seem determined to make this as difficult as possible,” Sul’kesh says. He might be angry. Jack doesn’t care.

“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry you didn’t find him first, but he’s here now.”

“Jack, what the hell is going on?” Jacob asks.

“They’re rebels,” Jack says. “Carter, look. Jacob’s here.”

She twists her neck to see her father. “I know. I’m glad you’re okay.”

Jacob nods sharply, taking in her condition, but he’s clearly not willing to give anything away with strangers in the room.

Jack returns to his place next to Carter, perching on the edge. His leg feels like somebody poured gas on it and lit him up. “This is Sul’kesh,” he says. “He’s in charge.”

The two older men scrutinize each other.

“They’re gonna get us out, Jacob.”

“Then why haven’t they done it yet?”

“Because Baal won’t go down for his nap.”

Jacob looks like he’s about to blow. And like he thinks they’re all idiots. “Well, we’ll just go now.”

“We can’t,” Carter says. Her hands are hiding her face, muffling her voice. “We have to get the power supply. We can’t do that while he’s awake.”

“Jesus, Sam,” Jacob says. “It’s not important.”

“I agree,” Jack says.

Carter nudges his hip with her thigh. “Jack, please don’t help. And if it’s not important, then why are we here?” She drops her arms so she can look at Jacob again. “We’ve got a better chance of success with Sul’kesh and his Jaffa on our side.”

“We cannot assist until Baal is unaware,” Sul’kesh says. “I will not endanger more of my men than I must, just as you would not endanger yours.”

Jacob huffs and turns to Jack for backup. Jack flinches. “She’s right, Jacob.”

“You agree with her? _You_ agree with her?”

“Look, I don’t like it any more than you do. I want us all home yesterday. But you gotta go with the odds, Jacob.”

“We must be quiet!” Sul’kesh warns.

Yeah, his voice might have gotten a little loud there. “Sorry, sorry.”

Jacob glowers at Jack. “You sure you trust these guys?”

Jack isn’t all the way there yet, but he’s getting closer. He nods; Jacob sighs.

“Okay,” Jacob says. “We’ll do it your way.”

Sul’kesh relaxes again. “You we can remove quietly,” he tells Jacob. “You are certain you have not been seen?”

Jacob shakes his head impatiently. “Nobody saw me.”

Sulky assesses Jacob, appears to conclude that the Tok’ra knows his stuff. “We will hide him,” he says, gently, to Carter. Either he knew of their relationship before he met them, or he’s figured it out in the last three minutes. Jack suspects the latter. “He will be safe. Go northwest. He will meet you with my men.”

Carter pushes herself up a little. “We’ll be okay,” she says.

“Hey, Jacob, you got any supplies with you? Rations, medicine?”

Jacob drops his pack and digs into it, coming up with a t-shirt that’s in even worse shape than the one he has on. He tosses it to Jack. “Clean that up,” he says, jerking his chin at the mess on the floor. He keeps digging. “No medkit. No clean clothes, sorry. Three powerbars, an MRE, and some water purification tablets. You need those?”

“Sure, what the hell,” Jack says, holding his hands out. Carter might be less likely to puke up purified water. And so might Jack, when his fever gets worse. “Thanks.”

Jacob gazes intently at his daughter, and then at Jack. “Be safe,” he says. Jack’s pretty sure there’s a silent _or else_ tacked on at the end.

“We’ll be okay,” Carter says again. Nobody believes her, but it’ll have to do.

As they leave the cell, she lies back and shields her eyes again. Jack listens to the footsteps recede.

“Worse this time?” he asks her.

“Cumulative, I think,” she says. “It’s getting a little better now.”

Jack tears the t-shirt, wets one piece of it with the small pail of water Sul’kesh procured them earlier, and wipes up the floor. Whoever built this place kindly provided a simple hole for bodily functions — because they couldn’t be bothered to clean up after the prisoners, Jack’s sure. He pitches the rag; it hits the target and falls.

“Score,” Jack says.

Carter drops her hands from her face. “You look like hell,” she says, squinting.

“Look who’s talking. Take some Advil.”

“I don’t think I can. We’d just be wasting it.”

“Carter … ”

“What does it matter, Jack? Either we’ll get out of here before he summons me again, or we won’t. My headache is irrelevant. Your fever isn’t.”

“I don’t have a fever, Carter.”

“Right,” she scoffs.

Jack smiles, giving in, and pushes some hair behind her ear. “Think you can sleep some?”

“No.”

Well, okay then. “Did he ask anything different this time?”

“Not really. He kept insisting that his Jaffa were torturing Dad in another room. At least I know that’s not true.”

Jack looks at the hieroglyphs on the opposite wall, then at the force shield locking them in, then back at her. “That’s not all he said, though, is it?”

She sighs, and studies him for a long time. “No.”

“Past or future?” he asks.

“What?”

“What he did to me before, or what he’s going to do?”

There’s a long pause, and her eyes are suspiciously damp. She blinks. “Both.”

Jack tugs at a loose thread in his singed trousers, and feels incredibly selfish. “I don’t think I can handle it again,” he says. He doesn’t recognize his own voice. His eyes sting a little, too.

Carter stills his hand with her own. “I know,” she says. “But you won’t have to. We’re getting out.”

Jack screws his eyes shut. “Yeah,” he says. “Getting out.”

“You have to believe me, Jack.”

“I do, Carter. I believe you.” And then he retreats to the other wall. He can’t touch her anymore.

*

More food appears, and more waiting follows. It’s the inactivity that’s going to make Jack lose it, and make him do something stupid — like drive Carter even further up a wall.

He gets her to eat half a powerbar, and a couple bites of Air Force-issue macaroni and cheese; she takes a few sips of water. The rest of the food gets hidden away in his pockets. He’s not hungry.

Carter dozes, but it’s not real sleep. Jack eventually tries to get some rest himself. Instead he stares at the ceiling, only turning occasionally to check on her. He can smell his own sweat. His stomach is jittery. His hands clench and unclench, just wanting to _do_ something.

Jack contemplates how Baal fills his days. Is he toying with his slaves, plotting galactic domination, rubbing his hands together like a bad guy with a goatee, what?

He thinks of the knives neatly arrayed on velvet; he touches his chest where the acid burned through. He doesn’t have the scars, but he still feels them sometimes.

Jack’s brain is usually a lot easier to shut down than this. He wonders how much Baal has told Carter: the truth, more than the truth, less? Jack saw how much it hurt her to hear it. He’d only revealed a few disjointed pieces, the same to her as to everybody else, and it hasn’t come up since they started dating. They’ve been trying to live like normal people. Right. That worked well.

It’s not that he doesn’t want her to know. It’s more that it must suck to get the details from the guy who sliced and diced him.

God, those knives. He can’t — God. He asked Daniel to help him die; he can’t ask the same of Carter. She’d have to do it with her own hands, and it would only be temporary, anyway.

Goddamn that Jacob Carter.

She sniffs, moving a little, and Jack is instantly alert. He’s also entirely focused on her — he doesn’t hear anything else, until she says his name and jerks her chin toward the door.

These are Jaffa he doesn’t know. They enter the cell, pull her up, and bind her hands. Carter tries to shrug out of their grip, but gives up and shuts her eyes, breathing deeply. Jack stands and finds a staff weapon in his face. “What the hell else does the bastard want?” he says.

The staff weapon covers his mouth, and Jack shuffles out of its way. Carter gives him her _shut up_ look, shaking her head as they lead her out of the cell.

“You will have your turn soon, Tau’ri,” the Jaffa behind the staff weapon sneers. Carter looks at him one last time, her face drawn in fear — she’s not even trying to hide it anymore — and then she’s gone.

“I’m her boss,” Jack pleads with the last Jaffa. “He should talk to me.”

But the Jaffa just spins and leaves. No, no, no.

There has to be a point when repeated exposure to a hand device will shut down the brain, even if it’s not a constant stream, right? And then one or both of them will see the inside of that sarcophagus, and that damn light. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Jack felt his soul starting to go, before.

He falls back against the wall. It’s knotted with hieroglyphs and his skin is oversensitive from fever; it feels like a row of knives.

*

Jack opens his eyes and fights to identify what startled him.

Running. A Jaffa, running down the corridor to the cell. It feels like Carter’s been gone only a few minutes, but he’s not surprised when his watch tells him it’s been over an hour.

“O’Neill,” Sul’kesh says, before Jack can even see him. Jack limps to the door. “Baal has sent for you. We must move quickly.”

“Oh, God,” Jack says.

“We must alter our plans. If he kills you, we will not be able to revive you without drawing his attention. And we believe he will kill you, as before.”

“Yeah, I’d like to avoid that.” He can’t live through it again. He _can’t_.

Sul’kesh frowns at the interruption. “Listen carefully,” he says. “There is little time. The Jaffa who will escort you are loyal to me. Baal has no other guards in the chamber where your woman is. When you arrive, you will steal the zatnik’tel from the Jaffa on your left. You must incapacitate Baal before he activates his personal shield.”

“Knock out the snake,” Jack says. He feels like his body is vibrating. Maybe it is. “Got it. Your guys, too?”

“Yes. I do not have as many of my own men in place as I would like, but it must suffice.”

“Sul’kesh. Thank you.”

The Jaffa nods impatiently. “I only ask that when you take the zatnik’tel, you make Baal believe that the guard did not give it willingly. He is one of my finest.”

“I will,” Jack says. Sul’kesh looks over his shoulder to see if he’s been followed. “Sul’kesh. I hope your daughter and her children don’t have to bow down to any of them much longer.”

“I hope for this as well.” He listens. “The guards approach. I must go.”

“Thank you,” Jack says, but Sul’kesh is already gone.


	8. Chapter 8

Jack leans against the wall, flexing his fingers. He can do this. It doesn’t matter that he feels like crap or that Carter feels like crap or that instead of shooting Baal, he’d rather kick the bastard to death. He can do this.

The force shield falls. Jack recognizes these guards, but they’re so stony-faced that he wonders again if anyone is really on his side. But they hold his elbows without gripping too tightly, and the one on his left takes some of Jack’s weight. Jack suspects thanking them wouldn’t be a great idea.

He limps down the hall with his silent escorts, memorizes the exact position of the zat on the left guy’s hip. It’s Jack’s injured side — and his ankle is already protesting the walk — but all he has to do is grab the gun, right?

They go through five long corridors, turning sharply twice, and he can remember the path, he can. But he can remember the inside of the sarcophagus better: that fucking light, and the grating of stone as it opened. And the knives.

Right, right, left. Pain fades from his awareness: there are gold walls, and there are corners, and there is a zat, and there is Jack.

When they stop, the Jaffa pause, giving him a moment to prepare himself. Jack takes a deep breath. He can do this.

The door is heavy, blocking any sound from inside; then it slides away and Baal faces him, smugly. The hand device is active and aimed at Carter. She’s on her knees, her wrists chained together behind her back, cheeks puffy, face streaked with tears and snot. Jesus.

Baal flicks his wrist, shutting off the beam, and Carter slumps forward with a shuddering gasp. Focus, O’Neill. Focus.

“Colonel O’Neill,” the snake drawls in his strange accent. He looks at Carter, and then back at Jack. “So kind of you to join us.”

She hadn’t noticed Jack was in the room until Baal said his name. Now she turns her head, eyes wide and red, and mouths the word, “No.”

Jack shrugs. The snake is still watching. “Thrilled to be here,” he says.

“Which shall it be, then, O’Neill?” Baal pulls a knife from his pocket and catches the light with it. It’s not like the other knives, from before. It has a worn, wooden handle and looks too cheap for Goa’uld tastes. “How shall I kill you first?” Baal asks. “Or perhaps it would be more amusing for us both to watch her die.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, making himself see only Baal’s face, not the blade. He can hear Carter sniffling, and he can tell she’s kneeling now, but he blocks her out, too. “I’d really rather not. What’s behind door number three?”

Baal laughs and aims the knife at Carter, the same way he aimed them at Jack, and Jack can’t help but see her now. He struggles against the Jaffa for show, but it’s an easy thing to fake. “She is difficult,” Baal says. “I wonder that you put up with her.”

Jack would like to put up with her a little longer. He doesn’t reply; Baal cocks his head curiously. Jack’s hand itches for the trigger — he can already feel the shape and weight of the weapon. He forces his fingers to still.

“I had heard you were no longer a foot soldier in your futile war, O’Neill.” Baal turns slightly, reaching for something behind him, and this is it. The zat’s in Jack’s hand in a millisecond. “I hadn’t thought I’d —”

Jack fires, cutting off the sentence. Baal slumps to the floor; a tray falls from his hand, scattering knives like a homicidal waterfall. But he’s still conscious, and he makes a desperate move for the shield on-switch on his wrist.

Jack shoots again, and this time it takes: Baal’s head thuds as it falls. “Yes,” Jack says, stepping closer. “Fucking snake.”

Carter sucks in a breath, sitting back on her heels. She looks around, notices the Jaffa, and apparently realizes that they’re the good guys. She tries to wipe her face on her shoulder.

Jack fires a third time. Blue lightning crackles along the body, but it doesn’t disappear. Crap. “Guess they don’t work the same way on Goa’uld,” he says, aiming for a fourth shot.

“You can’t disintegrate him, Jack,” Carter says. Jack’s head whips toward her.

“Oh, yes, I can.”

She twists her legs out from under her body, and scoots back to the wall. “He’s the only thing standing in Anubis’ way.”

She’s right, and it sucks. “Dammit.”

“What your woman says is true.” Shit, Jack had forgotten the Jaffa were there. He shouldn’t forget that stuff. “It would be worse for us all should Anubis gain power over Baal’s dominion,” the Jaffa says. Jack doesn’t even know their names. Maybe he should have learned their names.

Jack lowers the zat. “Yeah, yeah, I get it.” He looks around, spotting the stupid thing that caused this mess on a table by the wall. It shines silver and looks like a cheap carnival prize. He limps across the room and pockets it; it’s cool on his leg, through the cotton. “I’m tying the bastard up, though. Can you guys watch the door until I shoot you?”

One of them gives Jack a small, Teal’c-like smile. “We will assist you, O’Neill,” he says. Jack isn’t sure, but he thinks the guy is trying to be funny.

“Uh … yeah. Thanks.” He turns back to Carter. She’s okay, she’s okay, and they’re going home. “Where’s the key for those?”

She squints up at him, breathes deeply as if to keep from being sick. “Um. There’s a pocket in his coat. Get the power source, too. It’s over there.”

“Already got it.” It’s hard to bend down, with his leg, plus it makes him dizzy. He’s relaxed enough, after shooting Baal, that injuries and fever have started clamoring for attention again. But he finds the key and limps over to Carter; she bends forward to let him free her hands.

“Can you walk?” he asks, because it’s easier than everything else he wants to say.

She rubs one raw wrist, then the other. She’s shaking, but Jack can see her steeling herself, checking him out; she knows what they still have to do. “Better than you can,” she says.

“Right.”

The room spins. Jack blinks the dizziness away as he drags Carter’s chains to Baal.

“Take off his sash,” she says. “We can use it to tie them up.”

Jack shrugs at the Jaffa. “Sorry, guys,” he says. One of them, the possibly funny one, nods.

The sash is knotted at Baal’s waist. Jack kneels painfully. God, it hurts even more to be this close and not get to break the bastard’s neck.

He tugs at the gold material, sniffs, then looks up at Carter. “You puked on him, didn’t you?”

“On his shoes,” she says proudly. “It was sort of on purpose.”

He definitely approves. “Nice work.”

“Thank you.” She takes one more deep breath and stands, using the wall for balance.

“Sit down, Sam.”

She ignores him, and kneels instead — on Baal’s other side, where she wraps the chain securely around his ankles. Jack lashes the wrists, finally chaining arms and legs together in what will be a very uncomfortable pose. Well, that’s something. Not that Baal will notice, since he’s temporarily dead.

Jack nearly topples as he stands. He grabs the table.

Carter jumps to her feet to help him. “Jack?” She’s steadier than he is, for the moment.

“I’m okay. Just … maybe you can deal with them?” He offers her the zat, trigger end first.

She frowns but doesn’t argue, though she does apologize to the Jaffa before zatting them. Jack watches her tie them both up, more tightly than necessary. She gags them, then Baal.

“Nobody’ll believe they volunteered for that,” Jack says.

“Let’s hope not.” She bends down for the other Jaffa’s weapon, and pauses to inhale deeply once she’s upright again. “Come on. Are you sure you can walk?”

“Yeah.” But still he welcomes her strength under his left arm, when she hoists him up.

“Jack, you feel like a furnace.”

“I can walk, Carter. And you don’t look so great yourself.”

She shakes her head, either giving up on the argument before it starts, or wondering what she ever saw in him the first place.

Jack can feel her determination in the force of her shoulders. They start for the door, but Carter stops quickly. “Wait,” she says. “I need my right hand. I’ll have to be on your other side.”

“Right. Okay.”

She bears as much of his weight as she can while she switches arms. Oh, this is going to hurt. And he’ll have to shoot lefty, but she’s probably got better aim than he does right now, anyway.

She opens the door and sweeps the corridor; it’s clear. Thank you, Sul’kesh. Once they’re out, Carter turns and blasts the lock, soldering it shut. It’ll be a while before anybody gets in there. If they’re lucky, it’ll be hours before anybody tries to get in there.

They inch along the wall, as quietly as Jack can limp. The two Jaffa at the first intersection don’t fight back, as Sul’kesh promised; Carter takes them down quickly, and leaves Jack propped up behind a column while she drags the unconscious bodies into a side room. She locks that door by zat, too.

When she returns, sucking in air, she heaves him up but then stills. It takes Jack a few seconds to hear it: a Jaffa patrol, sounds like. He and Carter squeeze together in the shadows. Jack swallows hard and fights back a memory of the inside of that stupid stone box.

But the Jaffa, four of them, pass by without slowing. Jack feels Carter exhale, and after a minute she starts to lead him away from the wall. They only make it a few feet before she drags him back.

“Crap,” she whispers. “Crap, crap, crap.”

It’s another patrol, a smaller one as far as Jack can hear. He presses his back into the column, her warmth tight under his arm. The footfalls are heavy and metallic and in perfect unison and there’s no way they’ve been missed so soon. No way.

Jack can’t tell anymore if it’s her shaking, or him. And suddenly he realizes the Jaffa have turned. They’re not coming down this corridor; they’re not after him and Carter.

“I’m too old for this,” he says.

“Shh. Let’s move out.” She squints at the light as they emerge.

At the next corner, Carter peeks out and signals that there are two Jaffa ahead. Jack looks, too. They’re stationed outside a door. Baal’s quarters, maybe? Or his bathroom, who knows.

Carter inhales and exhales a few times. She’s got that look like there’s something repulsive in her mouth, but she swallows it down and signals Jack to stay put. He nods and she darts across the hall, shooting one of the guards. Jack goes for the other one, only glancing his shoulder.

The guy pivots and takes aim — he’s definitely not one of Sulky’s. Jack ducks back and three staff blasts hit the wall, too close to his head; pain shoots up from his ankle. Before he can get back in position there’s another zat blast, from Carter. The guard falls, and she disappears to take care of them. Jack has trouble catching his breath.

“Okay,” she says, beside him again. She can’t feel much better than Jack does. “We go right at the end of this hallway, and then we should see it. You ready?”

“Gimme a minute.”

Her head turns sharply. “Jack?”

He fights a wave of nausea. His body doesn’t want to be upright, and his stomach wants to be empty.

“Deep breaths,” she says, rubbing his back and breathing pretty heavily herself. “We’re almost there.”

“That way,” Jack says. “Okay. I’m good to go.”

“You sure?”

Enough already. He just wants to get the hell out of here, even if it does make him hurl. “Well, I don’t have a choice, do I?” he says shortly.

“No,” she says, equally shortly. Then she leads him back out into the open.

Jack orders himself to keep going. He took out Baal; Carter’s had her brain fried and is still shooting like a pro; he can walk to a fucking ship.

It still seems like a full klick before they reach the corner, and Carter deposits him against the wall. She scopes out the corridor, then steps into full view. Curious, Jack shuffles down the wall and looks, too: the only guard by the exit holds his staff out like an offering, and gives them a solemn Jaffa head bob.

Jack mouths, “Sorry,” as Carter aims.

She doesn’t bother to lock this one up, leaving him in a dark alcove. Jack starts for the door, one hand always on the wall.

The exit is a heavy stone thing that’ll make a shitload of noise. Jack grimaces, and Carter reappears at his side. “No other way?” he whispers.

She checks her compass. “Sul’kesh said to go out the way we came and then go northwest. This is the north exit. It’ll take too long to find another one.” After one long breath, she turns the wheel and the door slides into the even thicker wall. The grinding of stone on stone makes Jack’s teeth hurt, but at least his weapon’s in his right hand now. And since he expects Jaffa to come running any minute, he’ll need it.

Nobody comes, though, and now Jack can see why: rain falls in long, loud sheets. The planet’s weather is actually working for them. He hears Carter sigh in relief.

She sweeps the doorway first, then signals all clear. Damn. This is too easy.

“Something’s wrong,” he says when she comes back to fetch him.

“Maybe. But what can we do?” Good point. She hoists him up on her shoulder again. “We’ll go straight west first, into the ground cover, and then circle around.”

Only there’s a Jaffa patrol to the west: one is up high, manning a cannon trained on the surrounding forest; two more are chatting under a simple shelter at ground level, and could spot them easily.

Outside the door, a portico runs the length of the building. Carter drags Jack to an outer column, which is something like six feet thick. He pats it.

“Gotta love that Goa’uld architecture,” he whispers.

“Stop trying to be funny. Let me think.”

She surveys the terrain while Jack covers her with his zat. There are maybe ten columns on each side of them, but no other doors that they can see. To the north, directly in front of them, is a broad clearing, with the Jaffa patrol to their left and a path into the forest straight ahead. It’s maybe fifty meters away. No way can they reach that without being seen.

“East?” he says.

She nods, still thinking. “We’ll have to get to the tree line. It looks like it’s closer off to the side, so we’ll take cover behind the columns as much as we can.”

They’re at the fourth one when the cannon blasts behind them, followed by a crash of falling stone. Jack hears shouts, and a metallic buzzing, and his head swims.

“Shit,” Carter says. They duck behind the column as Jaffa pour out of the building. “Can you run?”

He’s not sure, but he nods anyway. If he can’t, it won’t matter for very long.

They run. A shout goes up behind them, and Jack hears part of the portico collapsing. He tells himself that the quicker they move, the sooner the pain will stop. Staff fire whizzes past his arm.

“Jack, come on.” But then there’s another blast, and she jerks them both to the ground, sheltering Jack’s head. Oh, _fuck_. The sudden movement twisted his ankle in a very bad way and _fuck_. His guts threaten to come up. He swallows hard as she yanks him to his feet, and it’s only now that he realizes that the last blast was in front of them. They’re left with a narrow, rocky path against the outer wall.

Jack takes one step with her, stumbles, and tries to figure out how to run without using his left leg. Carter tugs at his hand, once, twice, and then she’s right up next to him. “Run!” she shouts into his ear. A staff blast just misses her chest.

He shuts off his brain and runs.

The debris offers them a little shelter from behind. They’re only a few meters from the end of the portico now, and Carter’s propelling them forward. There’s still a remote chance the way ahead is safe.

A very remote chance, as it turns out.

“Tau’ri! You are captured!”

The small clearing at the building’s edge is lined with Jaffa, their weapons poised and cocked. And in front of the Jaffa, in the mud, are Sul’kesh and three of his men, dead.

They stop, panting. Jack holds up both of his hands and tries to balance on one foot. Carter slides carefully under his arm again.

Water beats on Jack’s face.

The Jaffa in charge jerks his chin at Jack’s zat, now high in the air. “Your weapons,” he says. Carter drops hers, kicking it away, and reaches up for Jack’s. She drops that, too.

Oh, so very, very screwed.

Except … one of the Jaffa nods minutely at Jack, and casts a discreet glance up to the sky. Either some of these guys are rebels, or Jack’s going nuts.

Head Jaffa says something in Goa’uld, and half a dozen of them break formation, heading for Carter and Jack. And now would be a very good time for whatever the rebel was hinting at to happen.

Jack looks sideways at Carter, follows her line of sight, and realizes she’s having a similar exchange with a different Jaffa.

Then there’s a roar, a burst of wind, the whine of an engine slowing down. The rain stops; Jack looks up, shivering. A bright light falls, and Carter says, “Oh, thank God.”

And then there’s another floor. Jack recognizes it when it hits his face.


	9. Chapter 9

Carter scrambles up to her hands and knees and blindly shouts, “Dad?” a little too close to Jack’s ear. He rolls over onto his back and moans.

“Hold on,” Jacob calls.

The ship swoops, and jolts from weapons fire. Carter’s on her feet already, dragging Jack off the rings. “Hey, take it easy!” he says.

“You have to ring up those Jaffa,” she tells her father.

“The ones that were about to kill you?”

“No, the dead ones. It’s Sul’kesh, Dad.”

“Sam, I don’t think — ”

“Dad, _please_. I don’t want Baal to bring them back.”

Jacob just grumbles.

Jack finds himself in the corner, by the airlock. Carter strips off her jacket and drops it on his chest. “I’m touched, Carter,” he says.

“You okay for a minute?” she asks.

He waves a hand at her and balls up the jacket under his head. “Go, go.” He’s expending most of his energy on not puking, anyway.

Carter disappears, and the rings whoosh. Jack so does not want to see that cargo.

“That might not have been too precise,” Jacob says. “Can we go now?”

All Carter says is, “Dad,” in an irritated tone Jack recognizes. She slides into the copilot’s seat.

More swooping. More shooting. Jack turns his head and sees clouds through the viewscreen, between Carter and Jacob. The clouds give way to the bright light of the planet’s upper atmosphere, then to blackness, and stars. Finally he feels the jolt of a hyperspace jump.

Holy crap. They’re going to live.

There’s a moment of silence while they all process this new information. Jack lets out a breath and realizes that watching the mutating stars outside is not a smart thing to do.

“Where are we going?” Carter asks.

“At the moment, a few systems over. I’ll plot a course for home from there.”

“Jack needs a doctor, Dad.”

“So does she,” Jack says from the floor. They both ignore him.

“Can we find a closer gate?” Carter asks.

Jacob pauses before responding. “I’ll see what we can do,” he says. “Selmak’s already working on it.”

“Thank you.” She turns and squints at the ring room. Her face is still blotchy. “I hope you have a zat.”

Jacob hands it over, and Jack watches her go. She’s moving in slow motion again, like she did in the cell. A few moments after she enters the other chamber, she says, “Oh, my God. One of them is alive.”

“What?” Jack and Jacob both ask together.

Jack hears her rearranging bodies. He crawls across the floor so he can see what she’s up to. “Sam?”

“I don’t think he’ll last very long, even with the symbiote,” she says, kneeling by her new patient. “God.”

The guy is off to the side, unconscious and breathing in loud, shallow rasps. He’s also missing both feet. The rest are still on the rings; one of Sul’kesh’s arms has been chopped off between the collarbone and the shoulder. Jack doesn’t count body parts on the other two. “Not precise,” he says.

“Best I could do, Jack,” Jacob says.

“I know, I know. Sorry.”

Carter stares at the nearly-dead Jaffa, and Jack knows she’s deciding if she should disintegrate him with the others.

She removes the Jaffa’s armor, tearing his clothing so she can see the chest. The burn looks like charcoal and extends to the top of the symbiote pouch. Even if he does survive, he’s still a Jaffa; he won’t be too happy without fully functional legs.

“Um,” Carter says, grimacing. She looks at Jack, then back at the pouch. Then she rolls up her sleeve, holds her breath, pushes one hand inside.

“Oh, ew,” Jack says.

“Dammit.” She sinks back on her heels, wiping her hand on the Jaffa’s tunic.

“Dead?” Jack asks.

“Dead.” She looks at him again. “Go lie down, Jack.” He doesn’t, and she starts to move around the room, taking off armor and jewelry.

“Personal effects?” he asks, confused.

“Maybe Teal’c can get these to their families somehow. At least then they’ll know.” Jack thinks of Sul’kesh’s wife and daughter. He wonders if the daughter’s husband is out fighting somewhere for Baal, too.

Carter piles it all in the far corner of the ring room, then comes back to grab the zat from the floor. For a few seconds she just stands, staring at the last Jaffa and swallowing hard. Jack’s afraid she might fall over.

“You want me to do it?” he asks softly.

“No. It’s okay. Go lie down.” Her eyes are pleading now, like she doesn’t want him to witness what she’s about to do. So he follows her order.

The ship falls out of hyperspace. “Dad?”

“We’re just going to calculate another quick trip. Wait a minute.”

The zat fires in the other room. Three, then three, then two, and the ship jumps again, and one final shot.

Poor bastards. Then again, they died free, as Teal’c would say. Jack mentions this to Carter as she comes back to the cockpit. She nods absently and kneels beside him.

“How is it?” she asks, touching his thigh.

“It’s broken. And burned. And _broken_.”

Carter frowns at his ankle, which is now turned at a revolting angle. “I’ll find something to bandage the burns.” She lays a hand on his forehead. “Do you want to move back to the other room?”

“No. Room spinning.”

“How is he, Sam?”

She looks over her shoulder. “His fever’s still rising and he’s in a lot of pain. I think he’ll be okay if we get antibiotics into him soon enough.”

It occurs to Jack that there must have been a healing device stowed somewhere on the other ship. Oh, well.

“There are supplies here somewhere,” Jacob says gently. “Think you could tally them?”

“Yeah,” she says. “In a minute.” She squeezes Jack’s hand. Jack squeezes back.

*

Carter finds blankets, some spare tunics and robes, and what are probably emergency rations — water jugs, and more of that dark, flat thing. It looks like his grandmother’s crispbread when she left it in the oven too long, and it tastes a lot worse. Jack manages three bites before handing it back.

She wraps it up without complaint, but she does make him swallow one of the last two Advil. “Sul’kesh gave Dad some stew. Can you handle that?”

“Ugh,” he says. “No.”

“You warm enough?”

He’s got two blankets underneath him, and two on top. “I’m _hot_, Carter.”

She gives him her most indulgent look and says, “Okay.” Then she picks up Jacob’s field knife and starts starts slicing long strips of Jaffawear.

He rubs her knee, trying not to look at the knife — or at the metal bar that’s going to be his splint. She scavenged it from one of the escape pods. “Seriously, how’s the head?”

“It hurts,” she admits. “A lot. But I’ll be fine.”

“You should lie down, too. You still feel sick?” She has a pinched look around her eyes, and big circles, and Jack doesn’t like the shade of her skin. He thinks the light is still bothering her.

“A little. We’ll get this done, and then I have to talk to Dad, okay? Then I’ll sleep.” She lays out the strips in neat rows, and leaves the knife under a pile of linen, out of Jack’s sight.

“Jacob?” Jack calls across the cockpit. “Make sure she gets some rest, willya?”

Jacob chuckles, and Carter smooths down Jack’s hair. “Ready?”

“No,” he grumps.

“Okay, Dad,” she says as she unties Jack’s boot. Jack sucks in a breath and grits his teeth. “I need your help to set it now.”

*

Jack doesn’t remember passing out, or being moved into the ring room. The burns still burn, but the ankle feels marginally better now that it’s splinted, and the nausea has let up some since they stopped the fancy flying.

He listens for what woke him, hears a shuffle and boots coming off. Then the blankets he’s kicked down by his feet slide back up over his shoulders. “Sam?” he asks groggily.

“Shove over.”

He inches to his left, carefully.

“You need to keep the blankets on, Jack.”

“It’s roasting in here, Carter.”

“Will you quit arguing with me?” But her voice is playful. Sweet.

“Probably not,” he admits. “You find a gate?”

Carter groans in something approaching pleasure as she lies down. “Oh, that feels good,” she says. And then, “Selmak knows of one about twenty hours away.”

Jack thinks about this. There’s a catch in there, but it takes him a while to find it. “Knows, or knew?”

She pauses. “Knew. But he’s sure of one maybe twelve hours beyond that.” She turns onto her side, to face him, and rests her hand on his stomach. “How’re you feeling?”

“I feel like crap, Carter.”

She laughs a little. “I’d forgotten how impossible you are when you’re sick,” she says.

“Hey, all this could be yours.”

He can almost make out her smile in the dim light. “Already is, I think.”

And then he fesses up. “I don’t feel as much like crap as I did before.”

“A ringing endorsement of my field medic skills.”

Jack grunts.

“Try to sleep,” she says, folding an arm under her head.

“I _was_ asleep.” But he rolls a little closer, ignoring his ribs, and drops his nose in her hair even though it’s as filthy as his own. “You stink, Carter.”

“Yep,” she says. “Twenty hours.”

“Twenty hours is nothing.” Hell, they were locked up for almost sixty. “You know,” he says into her hair, “falling for you was damned inconvenient.”

“Tell me about it,” she says, and then, “Sleep. That’s an order.”

*

Carter peers over Jacob’s shoulder at what Selmak believes is an Asgard-protected planet. The Tok’ra haven’t been paying attention to this part of the galaxy for a while, Jacob explains.

Fantastic.

“You sure it’s safe for Selmak, Dad?”

Jacob shrugs. “If it isn’t, I’ll shove you two through and make it home by ship. But we’ve never heard of one of those things anywhere but Cimmeria.”

She accepts that, but Jack can tell she’s still nervous. Hell, Jack’s nervous. Nearly a day off that rock and his adrenaline keeps spiking.

He’d gotten bored of his floor, and struggled into the copilot’s chair even though it makes his ankle throb and his guts churn, and even though he can’t look out the viewscreen too much. Carter objected, but half-heartedly; she knows how restless he gets. And they’ll be home soon, anyway. And he earned a couple extra points by being a good boy, and wrapping a blanket around his shoulders.

She looks over at him, and smiles an encouraging smile.

The inhabitants aren’t too advanced — “Just the way the Asgard like them,” Jacob said; Jack will have to ask him about that when he feels less like spewing his guts all over the ship — and the stargate is a few klicks from the nearest village. They’ll leave the ship here, cloaked. Jacob can come back for it later.

“I think you should ring us down, Dad. Jack shouldn’t be walking.”

“I can walk, Carter.”

“Sure you can.”

Jacob grins. “Why don’t we leave everything you gathered from the Jaffa here? George can send a team to get them.”

“I can walk, Jacob!”

Carter says, “Jack,” and Jacob grins some more.

The beam deposits them in front of the gate. Jack fights to stay upright, leaning on her, but the ground undulates and he sits down on the steps, hard.

“Oh, fuck.” Yeah, he couldn’t have walked.

“Just a couple more minutes,” Carter says as her father jogs toward them. She holds Jack’s shoulder tightly. In her other hand is the little machine that nearly got them all killed.

Jacob dials while Carter helps Jack get out of the way of the wormhole. Jack’s never felt sick going through the gate until today.

The four sergeants guarding the Alpha Site gate stare at them, P-90s raised. “Colonel O’Neill? Doctor Carter?”

Jack’s in the middle, barely standing, with a Carter propping him up on each side. “Take me to your leader,” he says.

*

It’s the middle of the night on Earth. Fraiser is home asleep, and everyone in the infirmary has agreed to wait until morning to decide whether to reset Jack’s ankle. They know she’ll want to see it. But they shoot a bunch of stuff into his IV line — antibiotics, some painkiller, something for the nausea because his head’s not floating so much now — while a nurse disinfects and wraps his burns.

Jacob comes back just as the nurse is finishing. “George asked if I was the one who shot you,” he says.

“I’m not entirely convinced you weren’t,” Jack says, earning a smile from Carter, who’s in the chair by his bed. She’s downed some pills, too, and been ordered to undergo an MRI and a vision exam, but nobody seems determined to make her undergo them right this minute. Maybe that’s the real difference between being on SG-1 and being a civilian.

The nurse tapes the last bandage, and Carter thanks her by name. The equipment tray rattles away.

Jacob grips Carter’s hand. “I gotta go, kiddo,” he says. With his free hand he digs the handheld computer out of his uniform, and passes it to her. “Obviously Selmak and I have some things to deal with back at the ranch. It might be a while.”

She nods. “I know. Be careful, okay?”

“I will. And I’ll come help you with the stabilizer as soon as I can. Try not to blow any planets up while I’m gone.”

“I’ll try.”

Jacob turns to Jack’s cot, frowning with what looks like indecision. “Jack?” he says finally. “If you hurt her I _will_ shoot you.”

“Oh, I believe you, believe me.” Then he has to think about that, because it doesn’t make much sense. But he figures Jacob got it, anyway.

“What if I hurt him, Dad?” Jack looks at Carter — that didn’t sound too great — but she’s smiling.

“Then I might have to shoot you, too.” Jacob leans down to kiss the top of her head. “Be safe. I’ll see you soon.” Then he turns, and he’s gone.

Carter tips back against the wall. Jack wiggles his toes just to make sure he can. His brain is clouding up; he’ll be out soon. And for once he doesn’t have a complaint about that.

“Carter?”

She turns to him, blinking. “Hmm?”

“Has it ever occurred to you that our lives are odd?”

“The thought has crossed my mind.”

He holds out a hand, and she takes it. His fingertips skirt the gauze on her wrist; the infirmary is starting to blur around the edges. “I want to go home, Sam,” he says.


	10. Chapter 10

“So you’ve decided to join us.” The owner of the voice is out of Jack’s range of vision, but he recognizes it immediately. Janet Fraiser’s heels click over to his bed.

Jack’s mouth is cotton as her face comes into view. “What the hell did you do to me, Doc?”

A nurse — Lieutenant Barros, he remembers — brings Jack a cup of ice.

“Not much,” Fraiser says. “You would have passed out on your own, but I kept you under to debride those burns a little.” She picks up his chart and scribbles on it. “You’re lucky you were unconscious.”

“Morphine,” he mumbles around an ice chip.

“Yes, morphine.” Which explains why his leg doesn’t hurt for the first time in what feels like weeks. Actually, he can’t feel his leg at all, though he can see a lump in the bed — his brand-new cast. Terrific. “You’re also on two antibiotics and a saline drip. And it’s no use trying to get me to take the IV out.”

Jack coughs, and it doesn’t hurt. “Yeah, yeah.”

She peers down at him. “You’d obviously be off the mission roster for several months, if I still had that option.”

“Good thing you don’t, then.” He pulls himself up — God, he hates the tug of an IV on the back of his hand — and Fraiser helps until he’s half-sitting. His head swims, but then it’s okay. “Where’s Sam?”

“Asleep, and no, I’m not going to wake her. I only convinced her to go a few hours ago.”

“Aw, Doc — ”

“You can beg all you want,” she says with a familiar, but strained, smile. “You know I won’t give in. She’ll wake up when she wakes up. Now, want some water?”

*

When Carter appears three hours later, Jack’s had lots of water, kept down some soup and crackers from the mess, and wheedled Fraiser into removing the IV. He picks at the band-aid.

Daniel follows on Carter’s heels. “You should’ve called us, Janet,” he says. His arm is still in the sling. “How long has he been awake?”

“Long enough for Sam to get some rest.”

Daniel complains some more, but looks narrowly at Jack, then at Carter, and follows Janet into her office.

Carter stands by his bed. “Hey,” she says. She’s had a shower, and she’s less green, but her jaw is still tight and her face still tired.

“Hey.”

“You look a lot better.”

He smiles and reaches for her hand. “So do you.”

“They don’t know,” she says softly, jerking her chin at the office door. “Dad talked General Hammond into keeping the whole thing under wraps for now.”

“No Tok’ra state secrets,” Jack says. “Right.” He’ll be just as happy if nobody ever finds out, even their closest friends. And he knows Carter gets that.

General Hammond strides into the infirmary a few minutes later; he glances at the only nurse in the room and she scurries away. Carter straightens her back, but doesn’t release Jack’s hand.

Hammond stands at the foot of the bed. He looks exhausted, too; he greeted them in the gate room, and Jack’s sure he hasn’t slept since. “How’re you feeling, Jack?”

“Alive,” Jack says.

The general chuckles.

“And just so you know, sir? Next time we’re saying no.”

“So I’ve been told,” Hammond says, with a glance at Carter. “I’m sorry it wasn’t the cakewalk Jacob was hoping for.”

“So are we, sir,” Carter says. Jack turns his head to her, surprised — it’s a little insolent, for Carter — but the general doesn’t seem to mind.

“I spoke with Teal’c this morning,” Hammond says. “It’ll take some work, but he says he should be able to locate the families of your four Jaffa. He’s going to come through himself to collect their belongings, probably the day after tomorrow.”

“Good,” Carter says. “Thank you.”

Jack just nods.

Hammond lowers his voice, though there’s nobody around. “Teal’c also said,” and here he pauses, “that a rumor is spreading quickly among the Jaffa. Many of them believe that Baal has executed an entire battalion on one of his outposts.”

“Oh, my God,” Carter says.

“_All_ of ‘em?”

“It is only a rumor,” the general clarifies, but he sounds more resigned than hopeful. “It’s unfortunate, though, if true.”

“_Unfortunate_?”

“Jack, it’s not General Hammond’s fault.”

Jack sighs. “No, of course it isn’t. Sorry, sir.”

Hammond nods his acknowledgment. “I’ll stop by again before I go home,” he says. He turns to leave, then looks back. “It’s good to see you both looking better.”

Carter says thanks, and Jack lets it stand for him, too.

“All of them,” he says when they’re alone.

“That stabilizer had better be worth it.”

Jack opens his mouth to tell her she can’t blame herself for Baal’s psychosis, but then he realizes that she isn’t second-guessing herself, or him. She’s just pissed off. “That snaky bastard,” he says instead.

Carter’s about to say something else, something even angrier, Jack thinks, but Fraiser clicks back into the infirmary and Carter clamps her mouth shut.

Fraiser claims Jack’s hand from Carter’s, to check his pulse, and shoves a thermometer into his mouth. “Is that really necessary?” he asks, trying to keep the stupid thing under his tongue. Nobody bothers to answer.

Daniel drifts over, too.

“Teal’c’s coming in a few days,” Carter tells him brightly.

“Hey, that’s great. He didn’t get to stay long after you guys left.”

Then there’s silence, except for Janet taking out the thermometer and writing down the numbers. Carter raises an eyebrow at Jack and shifts her gaze, momentarily, to Daniel. Yeah, yeah. “I can’t fix this for you, Jack,” she said a few weeks ago.

Jack moves his toes, to make sure he still can, and watches the blanket shift. “How’s the arm, Daniel?”

Daniel cocks his head, then smirks a little bit at Jack. “Better than your leg.”

“Good,” Jack says. He feels like a lab specimen. “That’s … good.”

“I’m getting some work done, at least,” Daniel says slowly. “Turns out dictation is pretty effective.”

Janet hands Jack another glass of water. “Geez,” he says. “I’m not going near that bedpan again, by the way.”

“Sam can help you to the bathroom, then,” Janet says. And she continues, all business, “Your fever’s down. We’ll schedule your first surgery for the burns in a month or so, and I want a specialist to look at that ankle. But you’ll be fine, eventually.”

Carter nods, soaking up the information. Jack has no problem letting her keep track of the details. “So,” he says, “No reason for me to stick around, right? Infection’s under control, leg’s completely numb, I’ve had about six gallons of water … ”

“I’m afraid you’re going to be my guest overnight, Colonel.”

“No,” Carter says. “We’re going home, Janet.”

They are?

Daniel’s eyebrows do some gymnastics. Jack waves his mental _Go, Carter!_ flag again. But something strange passes between the current major and the former one. Until recently, Carter shared Fraiser’s opinion on military women giving up their careers for men. “Sam, he’s still on morphine,” Janet says.

“You’ve lowered the dose, right? And it’s not like he’ll be driving. Give me something else, pills he can take later. The antibiotics, too.”

Oh, Jack is totally staying out of this. From the looks of it, so is Daniel. Jack could swear his friend has backed away a couple steps, though none of them have moved.

Fraiser’s mouth draws into a tight line, and she gives a curt nod. She usually gets her way around here. “I want him off that leg, Sam,” she says crisply. And her heels echo all the way back to the office.

Daniel shuffles his feet. “Everything okay? I mean, aside from Jack getting himself shot.”

“I did not get myself shot!” That earns him a small smile from Daniel, but Carter’s mind is elsewhere.

“Everything’s fine, Daniel,” she says. She licks her lips in thought, looks over her shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

Jack has all the sympathy in the galaxy, but he’s still glad it’s her instead of him. He watches her go. They both watch her go.

Daniel shuffles his feet again. “What was that about?”

“Don’t ask me. Female stuff.” But Jack knows what’s going on between Carter and Fraiser, and he thinks Daniel does, too. Why neither of them wants to admit this, Jack isn’t sure.

Hell, Teal’c knows everything. They should just dial up Teal’c and ask him.

This silence is longer. Jack puts down his empty water glass and goes back to picking at his band-aid.

“I, uh, I taped some hockey for you,” Daniel says.

What? “You taped _hockey_?”

“I do know how to use a VCR, Jack.”

Huh. “Thanks,” Jack says. “That’s … thanks.”

“I won’t even ruin it by telling you who won.”

Jack can’t even think of a comeback. Shit, this is crazy. He can’t manage a conversation with one of his best friends in the universe. And it’s Daniel, for God’s sake, who kept Jack from going nuts in that other cell. Daniel doesn’t remember that and Jack isn’t sure it was real, but Jesus. It’s just Daniel.

Jack blows out a puff of air. “So how’s the new team?” he asks.

Daniel eyes Jack, then turns away to drag the chair closer to the bed. He doesn’t point out that Jack’s never asked this before. “They’re okay,” he says, sitting. “They look up to me. They ask for my opinion.” And then, with half a grin, “It’s a nice change.”

It must be. “No wonder you almost ended up dead.”

“They’ll get over it.”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “So it doesn’t completely suck?”

Daniel shrugs. “It’s different. But it doesn’t suck, no.” He looks at his feet, and drags his free hand through his hair. “I was a little mad at first, to tell you the truth. But I knew it was childish, so I stopped.”

Mad? Daniel was mad? Huh. “Does Sam know that?” Jack asks.

“No. I thought she didn’t need another reason to beat herself up.”

“Huh,” Jack says. “How do you stop being mad?”

“Years of practice,” Daniel says dryly.

Jack fakes a frown, and then neither of them speaks for a few seconds. It’s not so bad this time.

“Listen,” he says, eventually. “I’m obviously going to be laid up for a while, and I doubt you’ll be seeing any action soon, either. Why don’t you come over on Saturday? We can burn some meat.” Jack doesn’t know what day it is, but they can work that out later.

Daniel’s eyes dart from side to side. “Really?”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Jack grumbles good-naturedly, though he knows that the only times he’s seen Daniel since he left the SGC have been when Teal’c or Carter organized it. “Are you coming or not?”

“Sure,” Daniel says. “Uh, your house or Sam’s?”

Jack’s not used to being asked that yet, but he kind of likes it. “I’ll have to get back to you on that,” he says.

*

Carter returns with the clothes Jack left in her lab over a week ago, helps him dress behind the privacy curtain. And it’s strange to leave the infirmary together, strange for her to help him with his crutches in the corridor while SGC personnel walk past, strange to head for the same car.

Strange, but good.

He steadies himself against the cab of his truck while she unlocks the door. He parked next to her Volvo the morning they left; they’ll have to come back for it sometime. “You know you’re coming home with me, right?” he says.

She raises an amused eyebrow, and helps him into the passenger seat. His crutches get thrown in the back.

“My house,” she says. “Need my own shampoo.”

Jack doesn’t care where they go. But he says, “Maybe I need my own bed.”

“You don’t.” She squeezes his good leg, shuts the door, and walks around to the driver’s side.

Jack lets his head fall back, and smiles.

“Don’t pass out on me before we get there,” she says as she adjusts the mirrors.

“Won’t. Promise.”

She fights with the seat for a minute. “I mean it, Jack.”

“Oh, I know you mean it.”

They pull out into daylight, and Jack squints against the setting June sun.

He doesn’t pass out on her. He makes it all the way to her bed, where she hands him the remote, gives him a handful of pills that he swallows without question, and just generally fusses, and yeah, it’s pretty cool. He’d never say that, of course. What he says is, “Quit hovering over me, Carter!”

She ignores him, and looks around the room. She’s already collected just about every pillow in the house, so Jack doesn’t think she’ll find much. But she spots his spare reading glasses, which have mostly moved in here, and puts them on the nightstand. He’s been wearing them a lot more since she informed him once that they made him look hot. “You want something to eat?”

“No.” Jack yawns. “Come lie down with me for a minute?”

She hesitates, then shoves some pillows to the floor and stretches out on her side, one palm on Jack’s chest. “God, I think maybe I could sleep, too.”

Jack weaves his fingers through hers and asks carefully, “We couldn’t have done it, could we?”

She doesn’t have to ask what he means, but she does think hard before answering. “No,” she says finally, and she sounds a lot less sad than he expected. It’s as if they were discussing some universal truth, like the Pythagorean theorem. “I don’t think we could. For a while, sure. The easy missions would have been easy. The bad missions would have been …” She untangles her hand from his, gesturing while she searches for the right word.

“Really, really bad?” he offers.

“Really, really bad.”

Jack nods. Before, he’d thought maybe they could have balanced work and a relationship, if it hadn’t been against the rules and if the choice hadn’t been made for them. Now, after a few days in Baal’s fortress of fun, not so much.

“All those Jaffa,” she says.

Jack brushes a strand of hair from her face. “What’d you say to Janet?”

“Nothing.” She pauses, and frowns, and grasps his hand again. “I understand why she thinks I’ve made the wrong choices.”

“I’m not sure she has a right to an opinion on that.”

“No, she knows that. But we just don’t have as much in common anymore, you know? It’s hard.”

“It’s sad,” he says.

“Mmm. Maybe.” Another pause. “You and Daniel are the same way, I think. Not so much to talk about now?”

Jack shrugs. “I dunno,” he says. “Maybe.”

“He doesn’t blame us, you know.”

“I know.” He wiggles his toes. Yep, still working. “I do know that, Sam. And I invited him over this weekend, by the way.”

“You did?” she says. “Good. Make me a list and I’ll go to the supermarket.”

“I can go grocery shopping, Carter. Okay, maybe not _alone_, but I can go.”

“No.”

Jack’s not sure he heard that right. “_No?_”

“No. Janet’ll kill me if I let you walk, and I agree with her.”

“What? I walked all over that —”

“Exactly my point,” she says, in that sweet voice that suggests she can make him suffer in a thousand new and interesting ways. “No more.”

“Traitor,” he says. “Damn that Fraiser.”

He expects a laugh, or at least a retort, but instead her face goes shifty.

“Sam?”

She rubs a spiral on his palm with her thumb. “I told Janet I was happy,” she says.

She did? Seriously? “Happy,” he says. “Except when we’re being shot at.”

“Except for getting shot at. And when I want to strangle you.”

“Oh, of course. Except for then.”

“I want to strangle you a lot,” she says.

“Right back atcha.” Jack’s goofy grin is totally because of the morphine. Totally. But he beats it down and says, “Hey, you really going offworld to play with your toy?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I’ve been thinking that I might not.”

“Really?” His voice squeaks. How humiliating.

“God knows Valera would kill for it. Or Michaels. And I can supervise them from here.”

“Wait, do you know how to delegate?” He knows the answer, of course; she can delegate just fine. It’s more fun to tease her, though.

“Oh, very funny.”

“‘Cause I’d, uh,” he says. “I wouldn’t mind if you stayed on this planet for a while.”

She takes a deep breath, and Jack doesn’t know if he’s about to get creamed or not. “I,” she says. “Yeah. Me too. I think.”

Jack nods, thoughtful, and Carter sits up. It’s maybe a little too much honesty, for them, at just over three months.

“Well,” she says, “I’m hungry, even if you’re not.”

“And you need your shampoo.”

“And I need my shampoo. Shout if you want anything.”

“Okay,” Jack says through a yawn. “Sam?”

“Jack?”

“You’re sure we never have to do that again?”

She bends down to kiss his cheek. “Pretty sure,” she says. And then she pads out of the bedroom and down the hall.

Jack’s going to check out any second, but he clicks on the TV anyway and flips through a few channels. It’s Wednesday, MSNBC informs him. “Hey, Carter?” he shouts.

“What, Jack?” She’s already rifling through the refrigerator. He can hear glass clinking on glass and plastic dragging on plastic.

“Tomorrow can we have the makeup sex?”

“We’ll see,” she calls back.

He can live with that.

_fin._

* * *

  
_“That was the first time ever in all the world the Furies wept.” ~ Ovid, Metamorphoses_   



End file.
